The 
 Hugh G. Dick Collection 
 
 in 
 
 English Literature 
 
 English Reading Room
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 AND 
 
 LITERARY FRAGMENTS
 
 ENGLISH 
 
 CR [CA^ ESSAYS 
 
 LI ERARY FRAGMENTS 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 J. CHURTON COLLINS 
 
 WESTMINSTER 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., LTD. 
 
 1903
 
 PUBLISHERS' NOTE 
 
 THE texts contained in the present volume are re- 
 printed with very slight alterations from the English 
 Garner issued in eight volumes (1877-1890, London, 
 8vo) by Professor Arber, whose name is sufficient 
 guarantee for the accurate collation of the texts 
 with the rare originals, the old spelling being in 
 most cases carefully modernised. The contents of 
 the original Garner have been rearranged and now 
 for the first time classified, under the general 
 editorial supervision of Mr. Thomas Seccombe. 
 Certain lacunae have been filled by the interpolation 
 of fresh matter. The Introductions are wholly 
 new and have been written specially for this issue. 
 The references to volumes of the Garner (other than 
 the present volume) are for the most part to the 
 editio princeps, 8 vols. 1877-90. 
 
 Edinburgh ! Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MM 
 
 I. Extract from Thomas Wilson's Art of Rhetoric, 1554 . I 
 
 II. Sir Philip Sidney's Letter to his brother Robert, 1580 . . 5 
 
 in. Extract from Francis Meres's Palladis Tamia, 1598 . . 10 
 
 IV. Dryden's Dedicatory Epistle to the Rival Ladies, 1664 . . 23 
 
 V. Sir Robert Howard's Preface to four new Plays, 1665 . . 30 
 
 VI. Dryden's Essay of Dramatic Poesy, 1668 .... 37 
 
 VII. Extract from Thomas Ellwood's History of Himself , describ- 
 ing his relations with Milton, 1713 135 
 
 VIII. Bishop Copleston's Advice to a Young Reviewer, 1807 . 149 
 
 IX. The Bickerstaff and Partridge Tracts, 1708 . . 167, 185 
 
 X. Gay's Present State of Wit, 1711 201 
 
 XI. Tickell's Life of Addison, 1721 211 
 
 XII. Steele's Dedicatory Epistle to Congreve, 1722 . . . 225 
 
 XIH. Extract from Chamberlayne's Angliae Notitia, 1669 . . 239 
 
 xiv. Eachard's Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the 
 
 Clergy and of Religion, 1670 241 
 
 XV. BickerstaflPs Miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, 1710 . 313 
 
 xvi. Franklin's Poor Richard Improved, 1757 .... 321
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE miscellaneous pieces comprised in this volume are 
 of interest and value, as illustrating the history of English 
 literature and of an important side of English social life, 
 namely, the character and status of the clergy in the 
 seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. They have 
 been arranged chronologically under the subjects with 
 which they are respectively concerned. The first three 
 the excerpt from Wilson's Art of Rhetoric, Sir Philip 
 Sidney's Letter to his brother Robert, and the dissertation 
 from Meres's Palladis Tamia are, if minor, certainly char- 
 acteristic examples of pre- Elizabethan and Elizabethan 
 literary criticism. The next three the Dedicatory Epistle 
 to the Rival Ladies, Howard's Preface to Four New Plays, 
 and the Essay of Dramatic Poesy not only introduce us to 
 one of the most interesting critical controversies of the 
 seventeenth century, but present us, in the last work, with 
 an epoch-marking masterpiece, both in English criticism 
 and in English prose composition. Bishop Copleston's 
 brochure brings us to the early days of the Edinburgh 
 Review, and to the dawn of the criticism with which we 
 are, unhappily, only too familiar in our own time. From 
 criticism we pass, in the extract from Ellwood's life of 
 himself, to biography and social history, to the most vivid 
 account we have of Milton as a personality and in private 
 life. Next comes a series of pamphlets illustrating social 
 and literary history in the reigns of Anne and George I., 
 
 vU
 
 viii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 opening with the pamphlets bearing on Swift's inimitable 
 Partridge hoax, now for the first time collected and re- 
 printed, and preceding Gay's Present State of Wit, which 
 gives a lively account of the periodic literature current 
 in 1711. Next comes Tickell's valuable memoir of his 
 friend Addison, prefixed, as preface, to his edition of 
 Addison's works, published in 1721, with Steele's singularly 
 interesting strictures on the memoir, being the dedication 
 of the second edition of the Drummer to Congreve. The 
 reprint of Eachard's Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt 
 of the Clergy and Religion Enquired into, with the preceding 
 extract from Chamberlayne's Anglia Notitia and the suc- 
 ceeding papers of Steele's in the Tatler and Guardian, 
 throws light on a question which is not only of great interest 
 in itself, but which has been brought into prominence 
 through the controversies excited by Macaulay's famous 
 picture of the clergy of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
 centuries. Last comes what is by general consent acknow- 
 ledged to be one of the most valuable contributions ever 
 made to the literature of proverbs, Franklin's summary 
 of the maxims in Poor Richard's Almanack. 
 
 Our first excerpt is the preface to a work which is entitled 
 to the distinction of being the first systematic contribution 
 to literary criticism written in the English language. It 
 appeared in 1553, and was entitled The Art of Rhetorique, 
 for the use of all suche as are studious of eloquence, sette 
 foorthe in Englishe by Thomas Wilson, and it was dedicated 
 to John Dudley, Earl of Warwick. Thomas Wilson 
 erroneously designated Sir Thomas Wilson, presumably 
 because he has been confounded with a knight of that 
 name was born about 1525, educated at Eton and sub- 
 sequently at King's College, Cambridge, whence he gradu-
 
 INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 ated B. A. in 1 549. In life he played many parts, as tutor 
 to distinguished pupils, notably Henry and Charles Brandon, 
 afterwards Dukes of Suffolk, as diplomatist and ambassador 
 to various countries, as a Secretary of State and a Privy 
 Councillor, as one of the Masters of Requests, and as Master 
 of St. Catherine's Hospital at the Tower, at which place and 
 in which capacity he terminated a very full and busy life 
 on June i6th, 1581. The pupil of Sir John Cheke and of Sir 
 Thomas Smith, and the intimate friend of Roger Ascham, 
 Wilson was one of the most accomplished scholars in 
 England, being especially distinguished by his knowledge 
 of Greek. He is the author of a translation, of a singularly 
 vigorous translation, of the Olynthiacs and Philippics of 
 Demosthenes, published in 1570. His most popular work, 
 judging at least from the quickly succeeding editions, 
 appears to have been his first, The Rule of Reason, con- 
 teinynge the Art of Logique set forth in Englishe, published 
 by Grafton in 1551, and dedicated to Edward VI. The Art 
 of Rhetorique is said to have been published at the same 
 time, but the earliest known copy is dated January 1553. 
 The interest of this Art of Rhetoric is threefold. It is the 
 work of a writer intelligently familiar with the Greek and 
 Roman classics, and it thus stands beside Elyot's Governour, 
 which appeared two years before, as one of the earliest 
 illustrations of the influence of the Renaissance on our ver- 
 nacular literature. It is one of the earliest examples, not only 
 of the employment of the English language in the treatment 
 of scholastic subjects, but of the vindication of the use of 
 English in the treatment of such subjects ; and, lastly, it is 
 remarkable for its sound and weighty good sense. His friend, 
 Ascham, had already said : ' He that wyll wryte well in any 
 tongue muste folowe thys councel of Aristotle, to speake as
 
 x CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 the common people do,to think as wise men do,and so shoulde 
 every man understande hym. Many English writers have not 
 done so, but usinge straunge words, as Latin, French, and 
 Italian, do make all thinges darke and harde.' And it is 
 indeed by no means improbable that this work, which is 
 written to inculcate all that Ascham upheld, may have been 
 suggested by Ascham. It is in three books, and draws 
 largely on Quintilian, the first two books being substantially 
 little more than a compilation, but a very judicious one, from 
 the Institutes of Oratory. But Wilson is no pedant, and has 
 many excellent remarks on the nature of the influence which 
 the classics should exercise on English composition. One 
 passage is worth transcribing 
 
 ' Among all other lessons, this should first be learned, that we 
 never affect any straunge ynkhorne termes, but to speake as is 
 commonly received, neither seeking to be over fine, nor yet being 
 over carelesse, using our speeche as most men doe, and ordering 
 our wittes as the fewest have done. Some seke so far outlandishe 
 English, that thei forget altogether their mothers language. And 
 I dare sweare this, if some of their mothers were alive, thei were 
 not able to tell what thei saie ; and yet these fine English clerkes 
 will saie thei speake in their mother tongue if a man should 
 charge them for counterfeityng the kinges Englishe. . . . The 
 unlearned or foolish phantasicalle that smelles but of learnyng 
 (suche fellowes as have seen learned men in their daies) will so Latin 
 their tongues that the simple can not but wonder at their talke, 
 and thinke surely thei speake by some revelation. I know them 
 that thinke Rhetorique to stand wholie upon darke woordes ; and he 
 that can catche an ynke home terme by the taile him thei coumpt 
 to bee a fine Englisheman and a good Rhetorician.' 
 
 In turning to Wilson's own style, we are reminded of 
 Butler's sarcasm 
 
 ' All a rhetorician's rules 
 Teach nothing but to name his tools.'
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 He is not, indeed, deficient, as the excerpt given shows, in 
 dignity and weightiness, but neither there nor elsewhere 
 has he any of the finer qualities of style, his rhythm being 
 harsh and unmusical, his diction cumbrous and diffuse. 
 
 The excerpt which comes next in this miscellany is by 
 the author of that treatise which is, with the exceptions, 
 perhaps, of George Puttenham's Art of English Poesie and 
 Ben Jonson's Discoveries, the most precious contribution 
 to criticism made in the Elizabethan age ; but, indeed, the 
 Defence of Poesie stands alone : alone in originality, alone in 
 inspiring eloquence. The letter we print is taken from Arthur 
 Collins's Sydney Papers, vol. i. pp. 283-5, an d was written 
 by Sir Philip Sidney to his brother Robert, afterwards 
 (August 1618) second Earl of Leicester, then at Prague. 
 From letters of Sir Henry Sidney in the same collection 
 (see letters dated March 25th and October 1578) we learn 
 that Robert, then in his eighteenth year, had been sent 
 abroad to see the world and to acquire foreign languages, 
 that he was flighty and extravagant, and had in consequence 
 greatly annoyed his father, who had threatened to recall 
 him home. ' Follow,' Sir Henry had written, ' the direction 
 of your most loving brother. Imitate his virtues, exercyses, 
 studyes and accyons, hee ys a rare ornament of thys age.' 
 This letter was written at a critical time in Sidney's life. 
 With great courage and with the noblest intentions, though 
 with extraordinary want of tact, for he was only in his 
 twenty-sixth year, he had presumed to dissuade Queen 
 Elizabeth from marrying the Duke of Anjou. The Queen 
 had been greatly offended, and he had had to retire from 
 Court. The greater part of the year 1580 he spent at 
 Wilton with his sister Mary, busy with the Arcadia. In 
 August he had, through the influence of his uncle Leicester,
 
 xii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 become reconciled with the Queen, and a little later took 
 up his residence at Leicester House, from which this letter 
 is dated. It is a mere trifle, yet it illustrates very strikingly 
 and even touchingly Sidney's serious, sweet, and beautiful 
 character. The admirable remarks on the true use of the 
 study of history, such as ' I never require great study in 
 Ciceronianism, the chief abuse of Oxford, qui dum verba 
 sectantur, res ipsas negliguntj remind us of the author of 
 the Defence ; while the ' great part of my comfort is in you,' 
 
 I be careful of yourself, and I shall never have cares,' and the 
 
 I 1 write this to you as one that for myself have given over 
 the delight in the world,' show that he had estimated royal 
 reconciliations at their true value, and anticipate the beauti- 
 ful and pathetic words with which he is said to have taken 
 leave of the world. Short and hurried as this letter is, we 
 feel it is one of those trifles which, as Plutarch observes, 
 throw far more light on character than actions of importance 
 often do. 
 
 Between 1580 and the appearance of Meres's work in 
 1598 there was much activity in critical literature. Five 
 years before the date of Sidney's letter George Gascogne 
 had published his Certayne Notes of Instruction concerning 
 the makyng of Verse in Rhyme. This was succeeded in 
 1584 by James I.'s Ane Short Treatise conteining some 
 rewles and cautelis to be observit. Then came William 
 Webbe's Discourse of English Poesie, 1586, which had been 
 preceded by Sidney's charming Defence of Poetry, composed 
 in or about 1579, but not published till 1595. This and 
 Puttenham's elaborate treatise, The Art of English Poesie 
 contrived into three books (1589), had indeed marked an 
 epoch in the history of criticism. Memorable, too, in this 
 branch of literature is Harington's Apologie for Poetry
 
 INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 (1591), prefixed to his translation of the Orlando Furioso. 
 But it was not criticism only which had been advancing. 
 The publication of the first part of Lyly's Euphues and of 
 Spenser's Shepherd 's Calendar in 1579 mav De sa *d to have 
 initiated the golden age of our literature. The next twenty 
 years saw Marlowe, Greene, Peele, Kyd, Shakespeare, 
 Chapman, Decker, and Ben Jonson at the head of our 
 drama ; Spenser, Warner, Daniel, and Drayton leading 
 narrative poetry; the contributors to England's Helicon, 
 published a year later, at the head of our sonneteers and 
 lyric poets ; and Sidney, Lyly, Greene, and Hooker in the 
 van of our prose literature. The history of Meres's work, 
 a dissertation from which is here extracted, is curious. In 
 or about 1596, Nicholas Ling and John Bodenham con- 
 ceived the idea of publishing a series of volumes containing 
 proverbs, maxims, and sententious reflections on religion, 
 morals, and life generally. Accordingly in 1597 appeared 
 a small volume containing various apothegms, extracted 
 principally from the Classics and the Fathers, compiled 
 by Nicholas Ling and dedicated to Bodenham. It was 
 entitled Politeuphuia: Wits Commonwealth. In the follow- 
 ing year appeared ' Palladis Tamia, Wits Treasury: Being 
 the Second Part of Wits Commonwealth. By Francis 
 Meres, Maister of Arts in both Universities.' On the title- 
 page is the motto ' Vivitur ingenio, cetera mortis erunt! 
 It was printed by P. Short for Cuthbert Burbie. From the 
 address to the reader, which does not appear in the first 
 edition, though it was apparently intended for that edition, 
 we learn that it had been undertaken because of the extra- 
 ordinary popularity of Wits Commonwealth, which ' thrice 
 within one year had runne thorough the Presse.' Meres's 
 work differs importantly from Wits Commonwealth. It is
 
 xiv CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 not merely a compilation, but contains original matter, 
 generally by way of commentary. The extracts are much 
 fuller, many being taken from modern writers, notably 
 Robert Greene, Lyly, Warner, and Sir Philip Sidney. In 
 1634 the work was re-issued under another title, Wits 
 Commonwealth, The Second Part: A Treasurie of Divine, 
 Moral, and Phylosophical Similes and Sentences generally 
 useful. But more particular published for the Use of Schools. 
 In 1636 it was again reprinted. The only part of Meres's 
 work which is of interest now is what is here reprinted. It 
 belongs to that portion of his compilation which treats 
 of studies and reading, the preceding sections discussing 
 respectively of ' books,' of ' reading of books,' of ' choice 
 to be had in reading of books,' of ' the use of reading many 
 books,' of ' philosophers,' of ' poetry,' of ' poets,' consisting 
 for the most part of remarks compiled from Plutarch, and 
 in one or two instances from Sir Philip Sidney's Defence 
 of Poetry. A portion of the passage which immediately 
 precedes the Discourse may be transcribed because of its 
 plain speaking about the indifference of Elizabeth and her 
 ministers to the fortune of poets ; though this, with curious 
 inconsistency, is flatly contradicted, probably for prudential 
 reasons, in the Discourse itself 
 
 'As the Greeke and Latin Poets have wonne immortal credit 
 to their native speech, being encouraged and graced by liberal 
 patrones and bountiful benefactors; so our famous and learned 
 Lawreate masters of England would entitle our English to far 
 greater admired excellency, if either the Emperor Augustus or 
 Octavia his sister or noble Maecenas were alive to reward and 
 countenance them ; or if witty Comedians and stately Tragedians 
 (the glorious and goodlie representers of all fine witte, glorified 
 phrase and great action) bee still supported and uphelde, by which 
 meanes (O ingrateful and damned age) our Poets are soly or chiefly 
 maintained, countenanced and patronized.'
 
 INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 Of the author of this work, Francis Meres or Meers, 
 comparatively little is known. He sprang from an old and 
 highly respectable family in Lincolnshire, and was born in 
 1565, the son of Thomas Meres, of Kirton in Holland in 
 that county. After graduating from Pembroke College, 
 Cambridge, in 1587, proceeding M.A. in 1591 at his own 
 University, and subsequently by ad eundem at Oxford, he 
 settled in London, where in 1597, having taken orders, he 
 was living in Botolf Lane. He was presented in July 1602 
 to the rectory of Wing in Rutland, keeping a school there. 
 He remained at Wing till his death, in his eighty-first year, 
 January 29, 1646-7. As Charles FitzGeoffrey, in a Latin 
 poem in his Affania addressed to Meres, speaks of him 
 as ' Theologus et poeta,' it is possible that the ' F. M.' who 
 was a contributor to the Paradise of Dainty Devices is to be 
 identified with Meres. In addition to the Palladis Tamia, 
 Meres was the author of a sermon published in 1597, a 
 copy of which is in the Bodleian, and of two translations 
 from the Spanish, neither of which is of any interest. 
 
 Meres's Discourse is, like the rest of his work, mainly a 
 compilation, with additions and remarks of his own. Much 
 of it is derived from the thirty-first chapter of the first book 
 of Puttenham ; with these distinctions, that Meres's includes 
 the poets who had come into prominence between 1589 
 and 1598, and instituted parallels, biographical and critical, 
 between them and the ancient Classics. It is the notices 
 of these poets, and more particularly the references to 
 Shakespeare's writings, which make this treatise so in- 
 valuable to literary students. Thus we are indebted to 
 Meres for a list of the plays which Shakespeare had pro- 
 duced by 1598, and for a striking testimony to his eminence 
 at that date as a dramatic poet, as a narrative poet, and as
 
 xvi CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 a writer of sonnets. The perplexing reference to Love's 
 Labour's Won has never been, and perhaps never will be, 
 satisfactorily explained. To assume that it is another title 
 for All's Well that Ends Well in an earlier form is to cut 
 rather than to solve the knot. It is quite possible that it 
 refers to a play that has perished. The references to the 
 imprisonment of Nash for writing the Isle of Dogs \ to the un- 
 happy deaths of Peele, Greene, and Marlowe, and to the high 
 personal character of Drayton are of great interest. Meres 
 was plainly a man of muddled and inaccurate learning, of 
 no judgment, and of no critical power, a sort of Elizabethan 
 Boswell without Boswell's virtues, and it is no paradox to 
 say that it is this which gives his Discourse its chief 
 interest. It probably represents not his own but the 
 judgments current on contemporary writers in Elizabethan 
 literary circles. And we cannot but be struck with their 
 general fairness. Full justice is done to Shakespeare, 
 who is placed at the head of the dramatists ; full justice is 
 done to Spenser, who is styled divine, and placed at the 
 head of narrative poets; to Sidney, both as a prose writer and 
 as a poet ; to Drayton, to Daniel, and to Hall, Lodge, and 
 Marston, as satirists. We are surprised to find such a high 
 place assigned to Warner, ' styled by the best wits of both 
 our universities the English Homer,' and a modern critic 
 would probably substitute different names, notably those of 
 Lodge and Campion, for those of Daniel and Drayton in a list 
 of the chief lyric poets then in activity. In Meres's remarks 
 on painters and musicians, there is nothing to detain us. 
 
 Of a very different order is the important critical treatise 
 which comes next, Dryden's Essay of Dramatic Poesy, to 
 which are prefixed as prolegomena Dryden's Dedicatory 
 Epistle to The Rival Ladies, Sir Robert Howard's Preface to
 
 INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 Four New Plays, and, as supplementary, Howard's Preface 
 to The Duke of Lerma, and Dryden's Defence of the Essay 
 of Dramatic Poesy. As Dryden's Essay, like almost all his 
 writings, both in verse and prose, was of a more or less 
 occasional character, it will be necessary to explain at some 
 length the origin of the controversy out of which it sprang, 
 as well as the immediate object with which it was written. 
 
 The Restoration found Dryden a literary adventurer, with 
 a very slender patrimony and with no prospects. Poetry 
 was a drug in the market ; hack-work for the booksellers 
 was not to his taste ; and the only chance of remunerative 
 employment open to him was to write for the stage. To 
 this he accordingly betook himself. He began with 
 comedy, and his comedy was a failure. He then betook 
 himself to a species of drama, for which his parts and 
 accomplishments were better fitted. Dryden had few or 
 none of the qualifications essential in a great dramatist; 
 but as a rhetorician, in the more comprehensive sense of 
 the term, he was soon to be unrivalled. In the rhymed 
 heroic plays, as they were called, he found just the sphere 
 in which he was most qualified to excel. The taste for 
 these dramas, which owed most to France and something 
 to Italy and Spain, had come in with the Restoration. 
 Their chief peculiarities were the complete subordination 
 of the dramatic to the rhetorical element, the predominance 
 of pageant, and the substitution of rhymed for blank 
 verse. Dryden's first experiment in this drama was the 
 Rival Ladies, in which the tragic portions are composed in 
 rhyme, blank verse being reserved for the parts approaching 
 comedy. In his next play, the Indian Queen, written in 
 conjunction with Howard, blank verse is wholly discarded. 
 The dedication of the Rival Ladies to Orrery is appro- 
 
 b 7
 
 xviii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 priate. Roger Boyle, Baron Broghill, and first Earl of 
 Orrery, was at this time Lord President of Munster, and 
 it was he who had revived these rhymed plays in his 
 Henry V., which was brought out in the same year as 
 Dryden's comedy. Whoever has read this drama and 
 Orrery's subsequent experiments, Mustapha (1665), the 
 Black Prince (1667), Tryphon (1668), will be able to estimate 
 Dryden's absurd flattery at its proper value. 
 
 But these dramatic innovations were sure not to pass with- 
 out protest, though the protest came from a quarter where it 
 might least have been expected. Sir Robert Howard was 
 the sixth son of Thomas, first Earl of Berkshire. He had 
 distinguished himself on the Royalist side in the Civil 
 War, and had paid the penalty for his loyalty by an im- 
 prisonment in Windsor Castle during the Commonwealth. 
 At the Restoration he had been made an Auditor of the 
 Exchequer. Dryden seems to have made his acquaintance 
 shortly after arriving in London. In 1660 Howard pub- 
 lished a collection of poems and translations, to which 
 Dryden prefixed an address 'to his honoured friend' on 
 ' his excellent poems.' Howard's rank and position made 
 him a useful friend to Dryden, and Dryden in his turn was 
 no doubt of much service to Howard. Howard introduced 
 him to his family, and in December 1663 Dryden married 
 his friend's eldest sister, the Lady Elizabeth Howard. In 
 the following year Dryden assisted his brother-in-law in 
 the composition of the Indian Queen. There had prob- 
 ably been some misunderstanding or dispute about the 
 extent of the assistance which Dryden had given, which 
 accounts for what follows. In any case Howard published 
 in 1665, professedly under pressure from Herringman, four 
 plays, two comedies, The Surprisal and The Committee, and
 
 INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 two tragedies, the Vestal Virgin and Indian Queen ; and to 
 the volume he prefixed the preface, which is here reprinted. 
 It will be seen that though he makes no reference to 
 Dryden, he combats all the doctrines laid down in the 
 preface to the Rival Ladies. He exalts the English drama 
 above the French, the Italian, and the Spanish ; and vindi- 
 cates blank verse against rhymed, making, however, a 
 flattering exception of Orrery's dramas. If Dryden was 
 not pleased, he appears to have had the grace to conceal 
 his displeasure. For he passed the greater part of 1666 at 
 his father-in-law's house, and dedicated to Howard his 
 Annus Mirabilis. But Howard was to have his answer. In 
 the Essay of Dramatic Poesy he is introduced in the person 
 of Crites, and in his mouth are placed all the arguments 
 advanced in the Preface that they may be duly refuted and 
 demolished by Dryden in the person of Neander. At this 
 mode of retorting Howard became really angry ; and in the 
 Preface to the Duke of Lerma, published in the middle of 
 1668, he replied in a tone so contemptuous and insolent 
 that Dryden, in turn, completely lost his temper. The sting 
 of Howard's Preface lies, it will be seen, in his affecting the 
 air of a person to whom as a statesman and public man the 
 points in dispute are mere trifles, hardly worth consideration, 
 and in the patronising condescension with which he descends 
 to a discussion with one to whom as a mere litterateur such 
 trifles are of importance. The Defence of the Essay of 
 Dramatic Poesy Dryden prefixed to the second edition of 
 the Indian Emperor, one of the best of his heroic plays. 
 The seriously critical portion of this admirable little treatise 
 deals with Howard's attacks on the employment of rhyme 
 in tragedy, on the observance of strict rules in dramatic 
 composition, and on the observance of the unities. But
 
 XX 
 
 irritated by the tone of Howard's tract, Dryden does not 
 confine himself to answering his friend's arguments. He 
 ridicules, what Shad well had ridiculed before, Howard's 
 coxcombical affectation of universal knowledge, makes 
 sarcastic reference to an absurdity of which his opponent 
 had been guilty in the House of Commons, mercilessly 
 exposes his ignorance of Latin, and the uncouthness and 
 obscurity of his English. The brothers-in-law afterwards 
 became reconciled, and in token of that reconciliation 
 Dryden cancelled this tract. 
 
 The Essay of Dramatic Poesy was written at Charleton 
 Park in the latter part of 1665, and published by Herringman 
 in 1668. It was afterwards carefully revised, and republished 
 with a dedication to Lord Buckhurst in 1684. Dryden 
 spent more pains than was usual with him on the com- 
 position of this essay, though he speaks modestly of it 
 as ' rude and indigested,' and it is indeed the most elaborate 
 of his critical disquisitions. It was, he said, written ' chiefly 
 to vindicate the honour of our English writers from the 
 censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before 
 them.' Its more immediate and particular object was to 
 regulate dramatic composition by reducing it to critical 
 principles, and these principles he discerned in a judicious 
 compromise between the licence of romantic drama as 
 represented by Shakespeare and his School, and the austere 
 restraints imposed by the canons of the classical drama. 
 Assuming that a drama should be ' a just and lively image 
 of human nature, representing its passions and humours, 
 and the changes of fortune to which it is subject, for the 
 delight and instruction of mankind,' it is shown that this 
 end can only be attained in a drama founded on such a 
 compromise ; that the ancient and modern classical drama
 
 INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 fails in nature ; that the Shakespearian drama fails in art. 
 At the conclusion of the essay he vindicates the employ- 
 ment of rhyme, a contention which he afterwards aban- 
 doned. The dramatic setting of the essay was no doubt 
 suggested by the Platonic Dialogues, or by Cicero, and the 
 essay itself may have been suggested by Flecknoe's short 
 Discourse of the English Stage, published in 1664. 
 
 The Essay of Dramatic Poesy may be said to make an era 
 in the history of English criticism, and to mark an era in the 
 history of English prose composition. It was incomparably 
 the best purely critical treatise which had hitherto appeared 
 in our language, both synthetically in its definition and 
 application of principles, and particularly in its lucid, 
 exact, and purely discriminating analysis. It was also the 
 most striking and successful illustration of what may be 
 called the new prose style, or that style which, initiated by 
 Hobbes and developed by Sprat, Cowley, and Denham 1 
 blended the ease and plasticity of colloquy with the solidity 
 and dignity of rhetoric, of that style in which Dryden was 
 soon to become a consummate master. 
 
 The Advice to a Young Reviewer brings us into a 
 very different sphere of criticism, and has indeed a direct 
 application to our own time. It was written by Edward 
 Copleston, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's and Bishop of 
 Llandaff. Born in February 1776 at Offwell, in Devonshire, 
 Copleston gained in his sixteenth year a scholarship at 
 Corpus Christi College, Oxford. After carrying off the prize 
 for Latin verse, he was elected in 1795 Fellow of Oriel. In 
 1800, having been ordained priest, he became Vicar of St. 
 Mary's. In 1802 he was elected Professor of Poetry, in 
 which capacity he delivered the lectures subsequently pub- 
 lished under the title of Preelections Academicce a favourite 
 
 1 See his Preface to his version of part of Virgil's second Aeneid.
 
 xxii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 book of Cardinal Newman's. In 1814 he succeeded Dr. 
 Eveleigh as Provost of Oriel. In 1826 he was made Dean 
 of Chester, in 1828 Bishop of Llandaff and Dean of St. 
 Paul's. He died at Llandaff, on October I4th, 1849. Cople- 
 ston is one of the fathers of modern Oxford, and from his 
 provostship date many of the reforms which transformed 
 the University of Gibbon and Southey into the University 
 of Whateley, of Newman, of Keble, and of Pusey. The 
 brochure which is printed here was written when Copleston 
 was Fellow and Tutor of Oriel. It was immediately in- 
 spired, not, as is commonly supposed, by the critiques in the 
 Edinburgh Review, but by the critiques in the British Critic, 
 a periodical founded in 1793, and exceedingly influential 
 between that time and about 1812. Archbishop Whateley, 
 correcting a statement in the Life of Copleston by W. J. 
 Copleston, says that it was occasioned by a review of Mant's 
 poems in the British Critic^ But on referring to the review 
 of these poems, which appeared in the November number 
 of 1806, plainly the review referred to, we find nothing in it 
 to support Whateley's assertion. That the reviews in the 
 British Critic are, however, what Copleston is parodying in 
 the critique of L Allegro is abundantly clear, but what he 
 says about voyages and travels and about science and 
 recondite learning appear to have reference to articles 
 particularly characteristic of the Edinburgh Review. It 
 was not, however, till after the date of Copleston's parody 
 that the Edinburgh Review began conspicuously to illustrate 
 what Copleston here satirises ; it was not till a time more 
 recent still that periodical literature generally exemplified 
 in literal seriousness what Copleston intended as extrava- 
 gant irony. It is interesting to compare with Copleston's 
 
 1 Whatcley'i Keminitctntu of Bishop Copleston, p. 6.
 
 INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 remarks what Thackeray says on the same subjects in the 
 twenty-fourth chapter of Pendennis, entitled ' The Pall Mall 
 Gazette.' This brochure is evidently modelled on Swift's 
 ' Digression Concerning Critics ' in the third section of the 
 Tale of a Tub, and owes something also to the Treatise on 
 the Bathos in Pope's and Swift's Miscellanies, as the title 
 may have been suggested by Shaftesbury's Advice to an 
 Author. The Advice itself and the supplementary critique 
 of Milton are clever and have good points, but they will not 
 bear comparison with the satire of Swift and Pope. 
 
 The excerpt which comes next in this Miscellany links 
 with the name of the author of the Essay of Dramatic Poesy 
 the name of the most illustrious of his contemporaries. 
 The difference, indeed, between Milton and Dryden is a 
 difference not in degree merely, but in kind, so immeasur- 
 ably distant and alien is the sphere in which they moved 
 and worked both as men and as writers. It has sometimes 
 been questioned whether Dryden is a poet. Few would 
 dispute that Milton divides with Shakespeare the supremacy 
 in English poetry. In Dryden as a man there is little to 
 attract or interest us. In character and in private life he 
 appears to have been perfectly commonplace. We close 
 his biography, and our curiosity is satisfied. With Milton 
 it is far otherwise. We feel instinctively that he belongs 
 to the demi-gods of our race. We have the same curi- 
 osity about him as we have about Homer, ^Eschylus, and 
 Shakespeare, so that the merest trifles which throw any 
 light on his personality assume an interest altogether 
 out of proportion to their intrinsic importance. Our 
 debt to Ellwood is, it must be admitted, much less than 
 it might have been, if he had thought a little more of 
 Milton and a little less of his somewhat stupid self
 
 xxiv CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 and the sect to which he belonged. But, as the pro- 
 verb says, we must not look a gift-horse in the mouth, and 
 we are the richer for the Quaker's reminiscences. With 
 Ellwood's work, the History of Thomas Ellwood, written 
 by Himself, we are only concerned so far as it bears on his 
 relation with Milton. Born in 1639, the son of a small 
 squire and justice of the peace at Crowell in Oxfordshire, 
 Ellwood had, in 1659, been persuaded by Edward Burrough, 
 one of the most distinguished of Fox's followers, to join 
 the Quakers. He was in his twenty-fourth year when he 
 first met Milton. Milton was then living in Jewin Street, 
 having removed from his former lodging in Holborn, most 
 probably in the autumn of 1661. The restoration had 
 terminated his work as a controversialist and politician. 
 For a short time his life had been in peril, but he had 
 received a pardon, and could at least live in peace. He 
 could no longer be of service as a patriot, and was now 
 occupied with the composition of Paradise Lost. Since 
 1650 he had been blind, and for study and recreation was 
 dependent on assistance. Having little domestic comfort 
 as a widower, he had just married his third wife. 
 
 Ellwood's narrative tells its own story. What especially 
 strikes us in it, and what makes it particularly interesting, is 
 that it presents Milton in a light in which he is not presented 
 elsewhere. Ellwood seems to have had the same attraction 
 for him as Bonstetten had for Gray. No doubt the simplicity, 
 freshness, and enthusiasm of the young Quaker touched 
 and interested the lonely and world-wearied poet who, 
 when Ellwood first met him, had entered on his fifty-fifth 
 year ; he had no doubt, too, the scholar's sympathy with a 
 disinterested love of learning. In any case, but for Ellwood, 
 we should never have known the softer side of Milton's
 
 INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 character, never have known of what gentleness, patience, 
 and courtesy he was capable. And, indeed, when we 
 remember Milton's position at this time, as tragical as that 
 of Demosthenes after Chaeronea, and of Dante at the Court 
 of Verona, there is something inexpressibly touching in 
 the picture here given with so much simplicity and with 
 such evident unconsciousness on the part of the painter 
 of the effect produced. There is one passage which is quite 
 delicious, and yet its point may be, as it commonly is, easily 
 missed. It illustrates the density of Ellwood's stupidity, 
 and the delicate irony of the sadly courteous poet. Milton 
 had lent him, it will be seen, the manuscript of Paradise 
 Lost] and on Ellwood returning it to him, 'he asked me 
 how I liked it, and what I thought of it, which I modestly 
 but freely told him, and after some further discourse about 
 it I pleasantly said to him, " Thou has said much here of 
 Paradise Lost, but what has thou to say of Paradise 
 Found?" Now the whole point and scope of Paradise 
 Lost is Paradise Found the redemption the substitu- 
 tion of a spiritual Eden within man for a physical Eden 
 without man, a point emphasised in the invocation, and 
 elaborately worked out in the closing vision from the 
 Specular Mount. It is easy to understand the significance 
 of what follows : ' He made me no answer, but sat some- 
 time in a muse ; then broke off that discourse, and fell 
 upon another subject.' The result no doubt of that 
 1 muse ' was the suspicion, or, perhaps, the conviction, that 
 the rest of the world would, in all probability, be as obtuse 
 as Ellwood ; and to that suspicion or conviction we appear 
 to owe Paradise Regained. The Plague over, Milton 
 returned to London, settling in Artillery Walk, Bunhill 
 Fields. * And when afterwards I went to wait on him there
 
 ... he shewed me his second poem, called Paradise 
 Regaiiud>x&& in a pleasant tone said to me, "This is owing 
 to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put 
 to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of." ' In 
 ' the pleasant tone ' more, and much more, is implied, of that 
 we may be very sure, than meets the ear. We should like 
 to have seen the expression on Milton's face both on this 
 occasion and also when, on Dryden requesting his permis- 
 sion to turn Paradise Lost into an opera, he replied, ' Oh, 
 certainly, you may tug my verses if you please, Mr. 
 Dryden.' It may be added that Paradise Lost was not 
 published till 1667, and Paradise 'Regained did not see 
 the light till 1671. Ellwood seems to imply that Paradise 
 Regained was composed between the end of August or the 
 beginning of September 1665, and the end of the autumn 
 of the same year, which is, of course, incredible and quite 
 at variance with what Phillips tells us. Ellwood is, no 
 doubt, expressing himself loosely, and his 'afterwards' 
 need not necessarily relate to his first, or to his second, or 
 even to his third visit to Milton after the poet's return to 
 Artillery Walk, but refers vaguely to one of those ' occa- 
 sions which drew him to London.' When he last saw 
 Milton we have no means of knowing. He never refers to 
 him again. His autobiography closes with the year 1683. 
 
 For the rest of his life Ellwood was engaged for the most 
 part in fighting the battles of the Quakers esoterically in 
 endeavouring to compose their internal feuds, exoterically 
 in defending them and their tenets against their common 
 enemies and in writing poetry, which it is to be hoped he 
 did not communicate to his ' master.' After the death of 
 his father in 1684 he lived in retirement at Amersham. His 
 most important literary service was his edition of George 
 Fox's Journal, the manuscript of which he transcribed and
 
 INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 published. He died at his house on Hunger Hill, Amer- 
 sham, in March 1714, and lies with Penn in the Quaker's 
 burying-ground at New Jordan, Chalfont St. Giles. 
 
 We have now arrived at the pamphlets in our Miscellany 
 bearing on the reign of Queen Anne. First come the Part- 
 ridge tracts. The history of the inimitable hoax of which they 
 are the record is full of interest. In November 1707 Swift, 
 then Vicar of Laracor, came over to England on a commis- 
 sion from Archbishop King. His two satires, the Battle of 
 the Books and the Tale of a Tub, published anonymously 
 three years before, had given him a foremost place among 
 the wits, for their authorship was an open secret. Though 
 he was at this time principally engaged in the cause of the 
 Established Church, in active opposition to what he con- 
 sidered the lax latitudinarianism of the Whigs on the one 
 hand and the attacks of the Freethinkers on the other, he 
 found leisure for doing society another service. Nothing 
 was more detestable to Swift than charlatanry and impos- 
 ture. From time immemorial the commonest form which 
 quackery has assumed has been associated with astrology 
 and prophecy. It was the frequent theme or satire in the 
 New Comedy of the Greeks and in the Comedy of Rome ; it 
 has fallen under the lash of Horace and Juvenal ; nowhere 
 is Lucian more amusing than when dealing with this 
 species of roguery. Chaucer with exquisite humour 
 exposed it and its kindred alchemy in the fourteenth 
 century, and Ben Jonson and the author of Albumazar 
 in the seventeenth. Nothing in Hudibras is more rich in 
 wit and humour than the exposure of Sidrophel, and one of 
 the best of Dryden's comedies is the Mock Astrologer. But 
 it was reserved for Swift to produce the most amusing satire 
 which has ever gibbeted these mischievous mountebanks. 
 
 John Partridge, whose real name is said to have been
 
 xxviii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Hewson, was born on the i8th of January 1644. He began 
 life, it appears, as a shoemaker ; but being a youth of some 
 abilities and ambition, had acquired a fair knowledge of 
 Latin and a smattering of Greek and Hebrew. He had 
 then betaken himself to the study of astrology and of the 
 occult sciences. After publishing the Nativity of Lewis 
 XIV. and an astrological essay entitled Prodromus, he set 
 up in 1680 a regular prophetic almanac, under the title of 
 Merlinus Liberatus. A Protestant alarmist, for such he 
 affected to be, was not likely to find favour under the govern- 
 ment of James II., and Partridge accordingly made his way 
 to Holland. On his return he resumed his Almanac, the 
 character of which is exactly described in the introduction 
 to the Predictions, and it appears to have had a wide sale. 
 Partridge, however, was not the only impostor of his kind, 
 but had, as we gather from notices in his Almanac and from 
 his other pamphlets, many rivals. He was accordingly 
 obliged to resort to every method of bringing himself and 
 his Almanac into prominence, which he did by extensive 
 and impudent advertisements in the newspapers and else- 
 where. In his Almanac for 1707 he issues a notice warning 
 the public against impostors usurping his name. It was 
 this which probably attracted Swift's attention and sug- 
 gested his mischievous hoax. 
 
 The pamphlets tell their own tale, and it is not neces- 
 sary to tell it here. The name, Isaac Bickerstaff, which 
 has in sound the curious propriety so characteristic of 
 Dickens's names, was, like so many of the names in 
 Dickens, suggested by a name on a sign -board, the 
 name of a locksmith in Long Acre. The second tract, 
 purporting to be written by a revenue officer, and giving 
 an account of Partridge's death, was, of course, from the
 
 INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 pen of Swift. The verses on Partridge's death appeared 
 anonymously on a separate sheet as a broadside. It is 
 amusing to learn that the tract announcing Partridge's 
 death, and the approaching death of the Duke of Noailles, 
 was taken quite seriously, for Partridge's name was struck 
 off the rolls of Stationers' Hall, and the Inquisition in 
 Portugal ordered the tract containing the treasonable pre- 
 diction to be burned. As Stationers' Hall had assumed 
 that Partridge was dead a serious matter for the prospects 
 of his Almanac it became necessary for him to vindicate his 
 title to being a living person. Whether the next tract, 
 Squire Bickerstaff Detected, was, as Scott asserts, the result 
 of an appeal to Rowe or Yalden by Partridge, and they, 
 under the pretence of assisting him, treacherously making a 
 fool of him, or an independent jeu d'esprit, is not quite 
 clear. Nor is it easy to settle with any certainty the 
 authorship. In the Dublin edition of Swift's works, it is 
 attributed to Nicholas Rowe; Scott assigns it to Thomas 
 Yalden, the preacher of Bridewell and a well-known poet. 
 Congreve is also said to have had a hand in it. It would 
 have been well for Partridge had he allowed matters to rest 
 here, but unhappily he inserted in the November issue of his 
 Almanac another solemn assurance to the public that he was 
 still alive ; and was fool enough to add, that he was not only 
 alive at the time he was writing, but was also alive on the 
 day on which Bickerstaff had asserted that he was dead. 
 Swift saw his opportunity, and in the most amusing of this 
 series of tracts proceeded to prove that Partridge, under 
 whatever delusions as to his continued existence he might 
 be labouring, was most certainly dead and buried. 
 
 The tracts here printed by no means exhaust the litera- 
 ture of the Partridge hoax, but nothing else which appeared
 
 xxx CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 is worth reviving. It is surprising that Scott should include 
 in Swift's works a rapid and pointless contribution attributed 
 to a ' Person of Quality.' The effect of all this on poor 
 Partridge was most disastrous ; for three years his Almanac 
 was discontinued. When it was revived, in 1714, he had 
 discovered that his enemy was Swift. What comments he 
 made will be found at the end of these tracts. Partridge 
 did not long survive the resuscitation of his Almanac. 
 What had been fiction became fact on June 24th, 1715, 
 and his virtues and accomplishments, delineated by a hand 
 more friendly than Swift's, were long decipherable, in most 
 respectable Latin, on his tomb in Mortlake Churchyard. 
 
 The Partridge hoax has left a permanent trace in our 
 classical literature. When, in the spring of 1709, Steele 
 was about to start the Tatler, he thought he could best 
 secure the ear of the public by adopting the name with 
 which Englishmen were then as familiar as a century and a 
 half afterwards they became with the name of Pickwick. It 
 was under the title of the Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff 
 that the essays which initiated the most attractive and 
 popular form of our periodical literature appeared. 
 
 The next tract, Gay's Present State of Wit, takes up the 
 history of our popular literature during the period which 
 immediately succeeded the discomfiture of poor Partridge. 
 Its author, John Gay, who is, as we need scarcely add, one 
 of the most eminent of the minor poets of the Augustan age, 
 was at the time of its appearance almost entirely unknown. 
 Born in September 1685, at Barnstaple, of a respectable but 
 decayed family, he had received a good education at the free 
 grammar school of that place. On leaving school he had 
 been apprenticed to a silk mercer in London. But he had 
 polite tastes, and employed his leisure time in scribbling
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 verses and in frequenting with his friend, Aaron Hill, the 
 literary coffee-houses. In 1708 he published a vapid and 
 stupid parody, suggested by John Philip's Splendid Shilling 
 and Cider, entitled Wine. His next performance was the 
 tract which is here printed, and which is dated May 3rd, 
 I/I i. It is written with skill and sprightliness, and 
 certainly shows a very exact and extensive acquaintance 
 with the journalistic world of those times. And it is this 
 which gives it its value. The best and most useful form, 
 perhaps, which our remarks on it can take will be to furnish 
 it with a running commentary explaining its allusions both 
 to publications and to persons. It begins with a reference 
 to the unhappy plight of Dr. King. This was Dr. William 
 King, who is not to be confounded with his contemporaries 
 and namesakes, the Archbishop of Dublin or the Principal 
 of St. Mary Hall, Oxford, but who may be best, perhaps, 
 described as the Dr. William King ' who could write verses 
 in a tavern three hours after he could not speak.' He had 
 long been a prominent figure among wits and humorists. 
 His most important recent performances had been his Art of 
 Cookery and his Art of Love, published respectively in 1708 
 and in 1709. In the latter year he had, much to the disgust 
 of Sir John Soames, issued some very amusing parodies of 
 the Philosophical Transactions, which he entitled Useful 
 Transactions in Philosophy and other sorts of Learning, to 
 be continued as long as it could find buyers. It ceased 
 apparently to find buyers, and after reaching three numbers 
 had collapsed. When the Examiner was started in August 
 1710, King was one of the chief contributors. Latterly, 
 however, things had been going very badly with this 'poor 
 starving wit,' as Swift called him. He was either imprisoned 
 or on the point of being imprisoned in the Fleet, but death
 
 xxxii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 freed him from his troubles at the end of 1712. John Ozell 
 was, perhaps, the most ridiculous of the scribblers then 
 before the public, maturing steadily for the Dunctad, where, 
 many years afterwards, he found his proper place. He 
 rarely aspired beyond 'translations,' and the Monthly 
 Amusement referred to is not, as might be supposed, a 
 periodical, but simply his frequent appearances as a 
 translator. Gay next passes to periodicals and newspapers. 
 De Foe is treated as he was always treated by the wits. 
 Pope's lines are well known, and the only reference to him 
 in Swift is : ' The fellow who was pilloried I forget his 
 name.' Posterity has done him more justice. The 'poor 
 Review ' is of course the Weekly Review , started by De Foe 
 in 1704, the first number of which appeared on Saturday, 
 February iQth of that year. It had been continued weekly, 
 and still continued, till 1712, extending to nine volumes, 
 eight of which are extant. 1 The Obseruator, which is also 
 described as in its decline, had been set up by John Tutchin 
 in imitation of the paper issued by Sir Roger L'Estrange in 
 1681, its first number appearing April ist, 1702. Tutchin, 
 dying in 1707, the paper was continued for the benefit of his 
 widow, under the management of George Ridpath, the editor 
 of the Flying Post, and it continued to linger on till 1712, 
 when it was extinguished by the Stamp Tax. The first 
 number of the Examiner appeared on the 3rd of August 
 1710, and it was set up by the Tories to oppose the Tatler, 
 the chief contributors to it being Dr. King, Bolingbroke, 
 then Henry St. John, Prior, Atterbury, and Dr. Freind. 
 With No. 14 (Thursday, October 26th, 1710), Swift 
 assumed the management, and writing thirty-two papers 
 successively, made it the most influential political journal 
 1 Sec Late Stuart Tracts,
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 in the kingdom. The ' Letter to Crassus ' appeared on 
 February ist, 1711, and was written by Swift. To oppose 
 the Examiner, the Whigs set up what, after the second 
 number, they called the Whig Examiner, the first number of 
 which appeared on September I4th, 1710. It was continued 
 weekly till October I2th, five numbers appearing, all of 
 which were, with one exception, perhaps, written by 
 Addison, so that Gay's conjecture if Bickerstaff may be 
 extended to include Addison was correct. The Medley, 
 to which Gay next passes, was another Whig organ. The 
 first number appeared on August 5th, 1710, and it was 
 continued weekly till August 6th, 1711. It was conducted 
 by Arthur Mainwaring, a man of family and fortune, and 
 an ardent Whig, with the assistance of Steele, Anthony 
 Henley, and Oldmixon. 
 
 With the reference to the Tatler, we pass from obscurity 
 into daylight. Since April i2th, 1709, that delightful 
 periodical had regularly appeared three times a week. With 
 the two hundredth and seventy-first number on January 
 2nd, 1711, it suddenly ceased. Of the great surprise and 
 disappointment caused by its cessation, of the causes 
 assigned for it, and of the high appreciation of all it had 
 effected for moral and intellectual improvement and 
 pleasure, Gay gives a vivid picture. What he says con- 
 jecturally about the reasons for its discontinuance is so 
 near the truth that we may suspect he had had some light 
 on the subject from Steele himself. It was, of course, from 
 the preface to the edition of the first three volumes of the 
 collected Tatlers, published in 1710, that Gay derived what 
 he says about the contributions of Addison (though Steele 
 had not mentioned him by name, in accordance, no doubt, 
 with Addison's request) and about the verses of Swift. In all 
 
 c 7
 
 xxxiv CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 probability this was the first public association of Addison's 
 name with the Tatter. The Mr. Henley referred to was 
 Anthony Henley, a man of family and fortune, and one of the 
 most distinguished of the wits of that age, to whom Garth 
 dedicated The Dispensary. In politics he was a rabid Whig, 
 and it was he who described Swift as ' a beast for ever after 
 the order of Melchisedec.' Gay had not been misinformed, 
 for Henley was the author of the first letter in No. 26 and 
 of the letter in No. 193, under the character of Downes. 
 
 The cessation of the Tatler had been the signal for the 
 appearance of several spurious papers purporting to be new 
 numbers. One entitling itself No. 272 was published by 
 one John Baker ; another, purporting to be No. 273, was by 
 1 Isaac Bickerstaff, Junior.' Then, on January 6th, appeared 
 what purported to be Nos. 272 and 273 of the original issue, 
 with a letter from Charles Lillie, one of the publishers of 
 the original Tatler. Later in January, William Harrison, a 
 prottgt of Swift, a young man whose name will be familiar 
 to all who are acquainted with Swift's Journal to Stella, was 
 encouraged by Swift to start a new Tatler, Swift liberally 
 assisting him with notes, and not only contributing himself 
 but inducing Congreve also to contribute a paper. And 
 this new Tatler actually ran to fifty-two numbers, appearing 
 twice a week between January I3th and May iQth, 1711, 
 but, feeble from the first, it then collapsed. Nor had the 
 ' alter been without rivals. In the two hundred and twenty- 
 ninth number of the Tatler, Addison, enumerating his anta- 
 gonists, says, ' I was threatened to be answered weekly Tit 
 for Tat, I was undermined by the Whisperer, scolded at by a 
 Female Tatler, and slandered by another of the same character 
 under the title of Atalantis' To confine ourselves, how- 
 ever, to the publications mentioned by Gay. The Growler
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 appeared on the 27th of January 1711, on the discon- 
 tinuance of the Tatler. The Whisperer was first published 
 on October nth, 1709, under the character of ' Mrs. Jenny 
 Distaff, half-sister to Isaac Bickerstaff.' The Tell Tale 
 appears to be a facetious title for the Female Tatler, the 
 first number of which appeared on July 8th, 1709, and was 
 continued for a hundred and eleven numbers, under the 
 editorship of Thomas Baker, till March 3rd, 1710. The 
 allusion in the postscript to the British Apollo is to a paper 
 entitled The British Apollo: or Curious Amusements for the 
 Ingenious, the first number of which appeared on Friday, 
 March I3th, 1708, the paper regularly continuing on 
 Wednesdays and Fridays till March i6th, 1711. Selections 
 from this curious miscellany were afterwards printed in 
 three volumes, and ran into three editions. Gay does not 
 appear to be aware that this periodical had ceased. The 
 reference in ' the two statesmen of the last reign whose 
 characters are well expressed in their mottoes ' are to Lord 
 Somers and the Earl of Halifax, as what follows refers 
 respectively to Addison and Steele. The tract closes with 
 a reference to the Spectator, the first number of which had 
 appeared on the first of the preceding March. 
 
 Gay's brochure attracted the attention of Swift, who thus 
 refers to it in his Journal to Stella, May I4th, 1711 : 'Dr. 
 Freind was with me and pulled out a two-penny pamphlet 
 just published called The State of Wit. The author seems 
 to be a Whig, yet he speaks very highly of a paper called 
 the Examiner, and says the supposed author of it is Dr. 
 Swift, but above all he praises the Tatler and Spectator! 
 
 The two tracts which follow consist of the Life of 
 Addison, which forms the preface to Addison's collected 
 works, published by Tickell in 1721, and of the Dedicatory
 
 xxx vi CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Epistle prefixed by Steele to an edition of Addison's 
 Drummer in 1722. To the student of the literary history 
 of those times they are of great interest and importance. 
 Of all Addison's friends, Steele had long been the most 
 intimate of the younger men whom he had taken 
 under his patronage. Tickell was the most loyal and the 
 most attached. While still at Oxford he had expressed 
 his admiration of Addison in extravagant terms : on 
 arriving in London he made his acquaintance. Tickell 
 was an accomplished poet and man of letters, and though 
 not a profound a graceful scholar. Addison was pleased 
 with a homage which was worth accepting. As he rose, 
 his protigt rose with him. On his appointment as Chief 
 Secretary in Ireland he took Tickell with him. When he 
 was appointed Secretary of State he chose him as Under 
 Secretary, and shortly before his death made him his 
 literary executor, instructing him to collect his writings in 
 a final and authentic edition. This, for reasons which will 
 be explained directly, was a task of no small difficulty, but 
 to this task Tickell loyally addressed himself. In the 
 spring of 1721 appeared, in four sumptuous quartos, the 
 collected edition of Addison's works. It was prefaced by 
 the biography which is here reprinted, and to the biography 
 was appended that noble and pathetic elegy which will 
 make Tickell's name as immortal as Addison's. 
 
 There can be very little doubt that Steele had been greatly 
 distressed and hurt by the rupture of the friendship which 
 had so long existed between himself and Addison, but that 
 Tickell should have taken his place in Addison's affections 
 must have been inexpressibly galling to him. Naturally 
 irritated, his irritation had no doubt been intensified by 
 Addison appointing Tickell Under Secretary of State, and
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 still more by his making him his literary executor offices 
 which Steel might naturally have expected, had all gone 
 well, to fill himself. It would not have been in human nature 
 that he could regard Tickell with any other feelings than 
 hostility and jealousy. Tickell's omission of the Drummer 
 from Addison's works was, in all probability such at least 
 is the impression which the letter makes on me a mere 
 pretext for the gratification of personal spite. There is 
 nothing to justify the interpretation which he puts on 
 Tickell's words. All that Steele here says about Addison 
 he had said publicly and quite as emphatically before, as 
 Tickell had recorded. As Steele had, in Tickell's own 
 words, given to Addison ' the honour of the most applauded 
 pieces,' it is absurd to accuse Tickell of insinuating that 
 Addison wished his papers to be marked because he was 
 afraid Steele would assume the credit of these pieces. In 
 one important particular he flatly contradicts himself. 
 At the beginning he asks ' whether it was a decent and 
 reasonable thing that works written, as a great part of 
 Mr. Addison's were, in correspondence with me, ought to 
 have been published without my review of the catalogue 
 of them.' Three pages afterward, it appears that, in com- 
 pliance with the request of Addison delivered to him by 
 Tickell, he did mark with his own hand those Tatlers which 
 were inserted in Addison's works a statement of Tickell's, 
 but a statement to which Steele takes no exception. So 
 far from attempting to disparage Steele, Tickell does 
 ample justice to him ; and to accuse him of insensibility 
 to Addison's virtues, and of cold indifference to him per- 
 sonally, is a charge refuted not only by all we know of 
 Tickell, but by every page in the tract itself. Many of the 
 objections which he makes to Tickell's remarks are too
 
 xxxviii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 absurd to discuss. From nothing indeed which Tickell 
 says, but from one of Steele's own admissions, it is 
 impossible not to draw a conclusion very derogatory to 
 Steele's honesty, and to make us suspect that his sensitive- 
 ness was caused by his own uneasy conscience : ' What I 
 never did declare was Mr. Addison's I had his direct in- 
 junctions to hide.' This certainly seems to imply that 
 Steele had allowed himself to be credited with what really 
 belonged to his friend. A month after Addison's death he 
 had written in great alarm to Tonson, on hearing that it 
 had been proposed to separate Addison's papers in the 
 Tatler from his own. He bases his objection, it is true, on 
 the pecuniary injury which he and his family would suffer, 
 but this is plainly mere subterfuge. The truth probably is, 
 that Steele wished to leave as undefined as possible what 
 belonged to Addison and what belonged to himself ; that 
 he was greatly annoyed when he found that their respec- 
 tive shares were by Addison's own, or at least his alleged, 
 request to be defined ; that in his assignation of the papers 
 he had not been quite honest ; and that, knowing this, he 
 suspected that Tickell knew it too. There is nothing to 
 support Steele's assertion that it was at his instigation that 
 Addison distinguished his contributions to the Spectator 
 and the Guardian. Addison, as his last injunctions 
 showed, must have contemplated a collective edition of his 
 works, and must have desired therefore that they should 
 be identified. Steele's ambition, no doubt, was that he 
 and his friend should go down to posterity together, but 
 the appointment of Tickell instead of himself as Addison's 
 literary executor dashed this hope to the ground. 
 
 Few things in literary biography are more pathetic than 
 the estrangement between Addison and Steele. They had
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxix 
 
 played as boys together ; they had, for nearly a quarter of 
 a century, shared each other's burdens, and the burdens had 
 not been light ; in misfortune and in prosperity, in business 
 and in pleasure, they had never been parted. The wisdom 
 and prudence of Addison had more than once been the 
 salvation of Steele; what he knew of books and learning 
 had been almost entirely derived from Addison's conversa- 
 tion ; what moral virtue he had, from Addison's influence. 
 And he had repaid this with an admiration and affection 
 which bordered on idolatry. A more generous and genial, 
 a more kindly, a more warm-hearted man than Steele never 
 lived, and it is easy to conceive what his feelings must 
 have been when he found his friend estranged from him 
 and a rival in his place. There is much to excuse what 
 this letter to Congreve plainly betrays ; but excuse is not 
 justification. Tickell had a delicate and difficult task to 
 perform : a duty to his dead friend, which was paramount, 
 a duty to Steele, and a duty to himself, and he succeeded 
 in performing each with admirable tact. Whether Tickell 
 ever made any reply to Steele's strictures, I have not been 
 able to discover. 
 
 We pass now from the literary pamphlets to the extract 
 and excerpts illustrating the condition of the Church and 
 the clergy at the end of the seventeenth and about the first 
 half of the eighteenth century. They are of particular 
 interest, not only in themselves, but in their relation to 
 Swift and Macaulay to Swift as a Church reformer, to 
 Macaulay as a social historian. Few historical questions 
 in our own time provoked more controversy than the 
 famous pages delineating the clergy who, according to 
 Macaulay, were typical of their order about the time of the 
 Restoration. The first excerpt is from Chamberlayne's
 
 xl CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Anglia Notitia. The author of that work, Edward 
 Chamberlayne, was born on the I3th of December 1616. 
 He was educated at Oxford, where he graduated as B.A. 
 in April 1638. For a short time he was Reader in Rhetoric 
 to the University, but on the breaking out of the Civil War 
 he left for the Continent, where he visited nearly every 
 country in Europe. At the Restoration he returned ; and 
 about 1675, after having been secretary to the Earl of 
 Carlisle, he became tutor to the King's natural son, Henry 
 Fitzroy, afterwards Duke of Grafton, and subsequently 
 instructor in English to Prince George of Denmark. He 
 was also one of the earliest Fellows of the Royal Society. 
 He died at Chelsea in May 1703. In 1669 he published 
 anonymously Anglice Notitia, or the Present State of England 
 with Divers Reflection upon the Ancient State therefor, a 
 work no doubt suggested by and apparently modelled on 
 the well-known LEstat Nouveau de la France. The work 
 contains more statistics than reflections, and is exactly 
 what its title implies a succinct account of England, 
 beginning with its name, its climate, its topography, and 
 giving information, now invaluable, about everything in- 
 cluded in its constitution and in its economy. The extract 
 printed here is, as is indicated, from pp. 383-389 and p. 401. 
 The work passed through two editions in the year of its 
 appearance, the second bearing the author's name, and at 
 the time of Chamberlayne's death it had, with successive 
 amplifications, reached its twentieth edition. 
 
 Of a very different order to Chamberlayne's work is the 
 remarkable tract which follows. The author, John Eachard, 
 was born about 1636, at what date is doubtful, but he was 
 admitted into Catherine Hall, Cambridge, in May 1653. 
 Becoming Fellow of the Hall in 1658, he was chosen, on
 
 INTRODUCTION xli 
 
 the death of Dr. Lightfoot, Master. His perfectly unevent- 
 ful life closed on the 7th of July 1697. Personally he was 
 a facetious and agreeable man, and had the reputation of 
 being rather a wit and humorist than a divine and scholar. 
 Baker complained of his inferiority as a preacher; and 
 Swift, observing ' that men who are happy enough at ridi- 
 cule are sometimes perfectly stupid upon grave subjects,' 
 gives Eachard as an instance. The Grounds and Occasions of 
 the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion enquired into. In a 
 letter written to R. L., appeared anonymously in 1670. 
 This anonymity Eachard carefully preserved during the 
 controversies which it occasioned. It is difficult to under- 
 stand how any one after reading the preface could have 
 misunderstood the purpose of the book. But Eachard's 
 fate was Swift's fate afterwards, though there was more 
 excuse for the High Church party missing the point of 
 the Tale of a Tub than for the clergy generally missing 
 that of Eachard's plea for them. Ridicule is always a 
 dangerous ally, especially when directed against an insti- 
 tution or community, for men naturally identify themselves 
 with the body of which they are members, and resent as 
 individuals what reflects on them collectively. When one 
 of the opponents of Barnabus Oley in his preface to Herbert's 
 Country Parson observed : ' The pretence of your book 
 was to show the occasions, your book is become the occa- 
 sion of the contempt of God's ministers,' he expressed what 
 the majority of the clergy felt. The storm burst at once, 
 and the storm raged for months. ' I have had,' wrote 
 Eachard in one of his many rejoinders, ' as many several 
 names as the Grand Seignior has titles of honour; for 
 setting aside the vulgar and familiar ones of Rogue, Rascal, 
 Dog, and Thief (which may be taken by way of endear-
 
 xlii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 ment as well as out of prejudice and offence), as also 
 those of more certain signification, as Malicious Rogue, 
 Ill-Natured Rascal, Lay Dog, and Spiteful Thief.' He had 
 also, he said, been called Rebel, Traitor, Scot, Sadducee, 
 and Socinian. Among the most elaborate replies to his 
 work were: An Answer to a Letter of Enquiry into the 
 Ground, etc., 1671 ; A Vindication of the Clergy from the 
 Contempt imposed upon them, By the author of the 
 Grounds, etc., 1672 ; Hieragonisticon, or Corah's Doom, 
 being an Answer to, etc., 1672 ; An Answer to two Letters of 
 T. B., etc., 1673. The occasional references to it in the 
 theological literature of these times are indeed innumerable. 
 Many affected to treat him as a mere buffoon the con- 
 coctor, as one bitterly put it, of 'a pretty fardle of tales 
 bundled together, and they have had the hap to fall into 
 such hands as had rather lose a friend, not to say their 
 country, than a jest' Anthony Wood, writing at the time 
 of its appearance, classes it with 'the fooleries, playes, 
 poems, and drolling books,' with which, as he bitterly com- 
 plains, people were ' taken with,' coupling with it Marvell's 
 Rehearsal Transposed and Butler's Hudibrasl 
 
 To some of his opponents Eachard replied. Of his method 
 of conducting controversy, in which it is clear that he 
 perfectly revelled, I give a short specimen. It is from his 
 letter to the author of Hieragonisticon : 
 
 1 You may possibly think, sir, that I have read your book, 
 but if you do you are most mistaken. For as long as I 
 can get Tolambu's History of Mustard, Frederigo Devasta- 
 tion of Pepper, The Dragon, with cuts, Mandringo's Pismires 
 rebuffeted and retro-confounded, Is qui me dubitat, or a flap 
 against the Maggot of Heresie, Efflorescentina Flosculorum, 
 
 1 Wood's Lift and Times, Clark's Ed. vol. ii. p. 240.
 
 INTRODUCTION xliii 
 
 or a choice collection of F. (sic) Withers Poems or the like, I 
 do not intend to meddle with it. Alas, sir, I am as unlikely 
 to read your book that I can't get down the title no more 
 than a duck can swallow a yoked heifer' and then follows 
 an imitation of gulps straining at the divided syllables 
 of Hieragonisticon. 
 
 There is no reason to suspect the sincerity of Eachard, 
 or to doubt that he was, in his own words, an honest 
 and hearty wisher that 'the best of the clergy might for 
 ever continue, as they are, rich and learned, and that 
 the rest might be very useful and well esteemed in their 
 profession.' To describe the work as ' a series of jocose 
 caricatures as Churchill Babington in his animadver- 
 sions on Macaulay's History does is absurd. Eachard 
 was evidently a man of strong common sense, of much 
 shrewdness, a close observer, and one who had acquainted 
 himself exactly and extensively with the subject which he 
 treats. But he was a humorist, and, like Swift, sometimes 
 gave the reins to his humour. It must be remembered that 
 his remarks apply only to the inferior clergy, and there can 
 be no doubt that since the Reformation they had, as a 
 body, sunk very low. Chamberlayne had no motive for 
 exaggeration, but the language he uses in describing them 
 is stronger even than Eachard's. Swift had no motive for 
 exaggeration, and yet his pictures of Corusodes and Eugenio 
 in his Essay on the Fates of Clergymen, and what we gather 
 from his Project for the Advancement of Religion, his Letter 
 to a Young Clergyman, and what may be gathered generally 
 from his writings, very exactly corroborate Eachard's 
 account. The lighter literature of the later seventeenth 
 and of the first half of the eighteenth century teems with 
 proofs of the contempt to which their ignorance and
 
 xliv CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 poverty exposed them. To the testimonies of Oldham 
 and Steele, and to the authorities quoted by Macaulay and 
 Mr. Lecky, may be added innumerable passages from 
 the Observator, from De Foe's Review, from Pepys, 1 from 
 Baxter's Life of himself, from Archbishop Sharp's Life, 
 from Burnet, and many others. 
 
 It is remarkable that Eachard says nothing about two 
 causes which undoubtedly contributed to degrade the 
 Church in the eyes of the laity : its close association with 
 party politics, and the spread of latitudinarianism, a con- 
 spicuous epoch in which was marked some twenty-six years 
 later in the Bangorian controversy. 
 
 The appearance of the first volume of Macaulay's History in 
 1848 again brought Eachard's work into prominence. Mac- 
 aulay's famous description of the clergy of the seventeenth 
 century in his third chapter was based mainly on Eachard's 
 account. The clergy and orthodox laity of our own day were 
 as angry with Eachard's interpreter as their predecessors, 
 nearly two centuries before, had been with Eachard himself. 
 The controversy began seriously, after some preliminary 
 skirmishing in the newspapers and lighter reviews, with 
 Mr. Churchill Babington's Mr. Macaulay*s Characters of 
 the Clergy in the Latter Part of the Seventeenth Century Con- 
 sidered, published shortly after the appearance of the 
 History. What Mr. Babington and those whom he repre- 
 sented forgot was precisely what Eachard's opponents had 
 forgotten, that it was not the clergy universally who had 
 been described, for Macaulay, like Eachard, had distin- 
 guished, but the clergy as represented by its proletariat. 
 
 1 See, for example, Diary, February i6th, 1668: 'Much discourse about 
 the bad state of the Church, and how the clergy are come to be men of no 
 worth in the world, and, as the world do now generally discourse, they 
 must be reformed.'
 
 INTRODUCTION xlv 
 
 If Eachard had occasionally given the reins to humour, 
 Macaulay had occasionally perhaps given them to rhetoric. 
 But of the substantial accuracy of both there can be no 
 doubt at all. 
 
 On the intelligent, discriminating friends of the Church, 
 Eachard's work had something of the same effect as Jeremy 
 Collier's Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of 
 the English Stage had in another sphere. It directed serious 
 attention to what all thoughtful and right-feeling people 
 must have felt to be a national scandal. It was an appeal 
 to sentiment and reason on matters with respect to which, 
 in this country at least, such appeals are seldom made in 
 vain. It did not, indeed, lead immediately to practical 
 reform, but it advanced the cause of reform by inspiring and 
 bringing other initiators into the field. And pre-eminent 
 among these was Swift. Swift was evidently well acquainted 
 with Eachard's work. In the apology prefixed to the 
 fourth edition of the Tale of a Tub in 1710, he speaks of 
 Eachard with great respect. Contemptuously explaining 
 that he has no intention of answering the attacks which had 
 been made on the Tale, he observes : ' When Dr. Eachard 
 wrote his book about the Contempt of the Clergy, numbers of 
 these answerers immediately started up, whose memory, if he 
 had not kept alive by his replies, it would now be utterly 
 unknown that he were ever answered at all.' No one who 
 is familiar with Swift's tracts on Church reform can doubt 
 that he had read Eachard's work with minute attention, 
 and was greatly influenced by it. In his Project for 
 the Advancement of Religion, he largely attributed the 
 scandalous immorality everywhere prevalent to the insuf- 
 ficiency of religious instruction, and to the low character 
 of the clergy, the result mainly of their ignorance and
 
 xlvi CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 poverty. His Letter to a Young Clergyman is little more 
 than a didactic adaptation of that portion of Eachard's 
 work which deals with the character and education of the 
 clergy. The Essay on the Fates of Clergymen is another 
 study from the Contempt, while the fragment of the tract 
 which he had begun, Concerning that Universal Hatred which 
 prevails against the Clergy, brings us still more closely to 
 Eachard. The likeness between them cannot be traced 
 further; they were both, it is true, humorists, but there 
 is little in common between the austere and bitter, yet, 
 at the same time, delicious flavour of the one, and the 
 trenchant and graphic, but coarse and rollicking, humour 
 of the other. 
 
 The essays reprinted from the Tatler give humorous 
 expression to a grievance which not only wounded the pride 
 of the clergy, but touched them on an equally sensitive 
 part the stomach. It was not usual for the chaplain in 
 great houses to remain at table for the second course. 
 When the sweets were brought in, he was expected to 
 retire. As Macaulay puts it : ' He might fill himself with 
 the corned beef and carrots ; but as soon as the tarts and 
 cheese-cakes made their appearance, he quitted his seat and 
 stood aloof till he was summoned to return thanks for the 
 repast, from a great part of which he had been excluded.' 
 Gay refers to this churlish custom in the second book 
 of Trivia : 
 
 'Cheese that the table's closing rites denies, 
 And bids me with th' unwilling chaplain rise.' 
 
 Possibly the custom originally arose, not from any wish to 
 mark the social inferiority of the chaplain, but because his 
 presence was a check on conversation. It must be owned,
 
 INTRODUCTION xlvii 
 
 however, that this would have been more intelligible had he 
 retired, not with the corned beef and carrots, but with the 
 ladies. The passage quoted by Steele from Oldham is 
 from his Satire, addressed to a Friend that is about to Leave 
 the University and come Abroad in the World, not the only 
 poem in which Oldham has thrown light on the degraded 
 profession of the clergy. See the end of his Satire, spoken 
 in the person of Spenser. 
 
 The last piece in this Miscellany has no connection 
 with what precedes it, but it has an interest of its own. 
 Among the many services of one of the purest and most 
 indefatigable of philanthropists to his fellow-citizens was 
 the establishment of what is commonly known as Poor 
 Richard's Almanack. Of this periodical, and of the 
 particular number of it which is here reprinted, Franklin 
 gives the following account in his autobiography : 
 
 'In 1732 I first published an Almanack, under the name of 
 Richard Saunders ; it was continued by me about twenty-five years, 
 and commonly called Poor Richards Almanack. I endeavoured to 
 make it both entertaining and useful, and it accordingly came to 
 be in such demand that I reaped considerable profit from it, 
 vending annually near ten thousand. And observing that it was 
 generally read (scarce any neighbourhood in the province being 
 without it), I considered it as a proper vehicle for conveying 
 instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely any 
 other books. I therefore filled all the little spaces that occurred 
 between the remarkable days in the calendar with proverbial 
 sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality as the 
 means of procuring wealth and thereby securing virtue, it being 
 more difficult for a man in want to act always honestly, as, to use 
 here one of these proverbs, "it is hard for an empty sack to stand 
 upright." These proverbs, which contained the wisdom of many 
 ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a connected dis- 
 course prefixed to the Almanack of 1757, as the harangue of a wise
 
 xlviii CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 old man to the people attending an auction. The bringing all 
 these scattered counsels thus into a focus enabled them to make 
 a greater impression. The piece being universally approved, was 
 copied in all the newspapers of the American Continent, reprinted 
 in Britain on a large sheet of paper to be stuck up in houses ; two 
 translations were made of it in France, and great numbers bought 
 by the clergy to distribute gratis among their poor parishioners and 
 tenants. In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense in 
 foreign superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence in 
 producing that growing plenty of money which was observable for 
 several years after its publication.' Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin, 
 Part ii., Works Edit. 1833, vol. ii. pp. 146-148. 
 
 Reprinted innumerable times while Franklin was alive, this 
 paper has, since his death, passed through seventy editions 
 in English, fifty-six in French, eleven in German, and nine 
 in Italian. It has been translated into nearly every language 
 in Europe: into French, German, and Italian, as we have seen; 
 into Spanish, Danish, Swedish, Polish, Bohemian, Dutch, 
 Welsh, and modern Greek ; it has also been translated into 
 Chinese. 1 In the edition of Franklin's Works, printed in 
 London in 1806, it appears under the title of The Way to 
 Wealth, as clearly shown in the Preface to an old Pennsylvanian 
 Almanack, entitled Poor Richard Improved, and under this title 
 it was usually printed when detached from the Almanack. 
 
 As Franklin himself owns, the maxims have little pre- 
 tension to originality. It is evident that he had laid under 
 contribution such collections as Clerk's Adagia Latino- 
 Anglica, Herbert's Jacula Prudentum, James Howell's 
 collection of proverbs, David Ferguson's Scotch Proverbs 
 (with the successively increasing editions between 1641 and 
 1706), Ray's famous Collection of English Proverbs, William 
 
 1 For this information I am indebted to Mr. Paul Leicester Ford's interesting 
 monograph on the sayings of Poor Richard, prefixed to his selections from the 
 Almamuk, privately printed at Brooklyn in 1890.
 
 INTRODUCTION xlix 
 
 Penn's Maxims, and the like. A few are probably original, 
 and many have been re-minted and owe their form to him. 
 
 The first number of the famous Almanack from which they 
 are extracted was published at the end of 1732, just after 
 Franklin had set up as a printer and stationer for himself, 
 its publication being announced in the Pennsylvania Gazette 
 of December gth, 1732 ; and for twenty-five years it continued 
 regularly to appear, the last number being that for the year 
 1758, and having for preface the discourse which became 
 so extraordinarily popular. The name assumed by Franklin 
 was no doubt borrowed from that of Richard Saunders, 
 a well-known astrologer of the seventeenth century, of whom 
 there is a notice in the Dictionary of National Biography. 
 But Mr. Leicester Ford a says that it was the name of ' a 
 chyrurgeon ' of the eighteenth century who for many years 
 issued a popular almanac entitled The Apollo Anglicanus. 
 Of this publication I know nothing, and can discover nothing. 
 The probability is that its compiler, whoever he was, antici- 
 pated Franklin in assuming the name of John Saunders. 
 He is most certainly not to be identified with Saunders the 
 astrologer, who died in, or not much later than, 1687. 
 
 It remains to add that no pains have been spared to make 
 the texts of the excerpts and tracts in this Miscellany as 
 accurate as possible indeed, Mr. Arber'sname is a sufficient 
 guarantee of the efficiency with which this important part 
 of the work has been done. For the modernisation of the 
 spelling, which some readers may perhaps be inclined to 
 regret, and for the punctuation, as well as for the elucidatory 
 notes within brackets, Mr. Arber is solely responsible. 
 
 J. CHURTON COLLINS. 
 
 1 Introduction to his selections from the Almanack. 
 
 d 7
 
 THOMAS WILSON. 
 
 Eloquence first given by GOD, 
 
 after lost by man, and last 
 
 repaired by GOD again.
 
 THOMAS WILSON. 
 
 C Eloquence first given by GOD, 
 
 after lost by man^ and last 
 
 repaired by GOD again. 
 
 [The Art of Rkttoric.'] 
 
 |AN IN whom is poured the breath of life, was made 
 at his first being an everlasting creature, unto the 
 likeness of GOD; endued with reason, and appointed 
 lord over all other things living. But after the fall 
 of our first father, sin so crept in that our knowledge 
 vas much darkened, and by corruption of this our flesh, man's 
 reason and entendment [intellect] were both overwhelmed. 
 At what time, GOD being sore grieved with the folly of 
 one man ; pitied, of His mere goodness, the whole state and 
 posterity of mankind. And therefore whereas through the 
 wicked suggestion of our ghostly enemy, the joyful fruition 
 of GOD's glory was altogether lost ; it pleased our heavenly 
 Father to repair mankind of his free mercy and to grant an 
 everlasting inheritance unto such as would by constant faith 
 seek earnestly thereafter. 
 
 Long it was, ere that man knew ; himself being destitute of 
 GOD's grace, so that all things waxed savage, the earth 
 untilled, society neglected, GOD's will not known, man 
 against man, one against another, and all against order. 
 Some lived by spoil, some like brute beasts grazed upon the 
 ground, some went naked, some roamed like woodwoses 
 [mad wild men] , none did anything by reason, but most did 
 what they could by manhood. None almost considered the 
 everliving GOD ; but all lived most commonly after their own 
 lust. By death, they thought that all things ended ; by life, 
 they looked for none other living. None remembered the 
 true observation of wedlock, none tendered the education
 
 THE POWER OF ELOQUENCE & REASON. 3 
 
 of their children ; laws were not regarded, true dealing 
 was not once used. For virtue, vice bare place ; for right 
 and equity, might used authority. And therefore whereas 
 man through reason might have used order, man through 
 folly fell into error. And thus for lack of skill and want of 
 grace, evil so prevailed that the devil was most esteemed : 
 and GOD either almost unknown among them all or else 
 nothing feared among so many. Therefore even now when 
 man was thus past all hope of amendment GOD still 
 tendering his own workmanship ; stirred up his faithful and 
 elect, to persuade with reason all men to society : and gave 
 his appointed ministers knowledge both to see the natures of 
 men ; and also granted to them the gift of utterance, that 
 they might with ease win folk at their will, and frame them 
 by reason to all good order. 
 
 And therefore whereas men lived brutishly in open fields 
 having neither house to shroud [cover] them in, nor attire to 
 clothe their backs ; nor yet any regard to seek their best 
 avail [interest] : these appointed of GOD, called them together 
 by utterance of speech ; and persuaded with them what was 
 good, what was bad, and what was gainful for mankind. 
 And although at first the rude could hardly learn, and either 
 for the strangeness of the thing would not gladly receive the 
 offer or else for lack of knowledge could not perceive the 
 goodness : yet being somewhat drawn and delighted with the 
 pleasantness of reason and the sweetness of utterance, after 
 a certain space, they became through nurture and good 
 advisement, of wild, sober ; of cruel, gentle ; of fools, wise ; 
 and of beasts, men. Such force hath the tongue, and such 
 is the power of Eloquence and Reason that most men are 
 forced, even to yield in that which most standeth against 
 their will. And therefore the poets do feign that HERCULES, 
 being a man of great wisdom, had all men linked together by 
 the ears in a chain, to draw them and lead them even as he 
 listed. For his wit so great, his tongue so eloquent, and his 
 experience such that no man was able to withstand his 
 reason : but every one was rather driven to do that which he 
 would, and to will that which he did ; agreeing to his advice 
 both in word and work, in all that ever they were able. 
 
 Neither can I see that men could have been brought by 
 any other means to live together in fellowship of life, to
 
 4 ELOQUENCE FOSTERETH SOCIETY. [ Sir ^ 
 
 maintain cities, to deal truly, and willingly to obey one 
 another : if men, at the first, had not by art and eloquence 
 persuaded that which they full oft found out by reason. For 
 what man, I pray you, being better able to maintain himseli 
 by valiant courage than by living in base subjection, would 
 not rather look to rule like a lord, than to live like an 
 underling; if by reason he were not persuaded that it 
 behoveth every man to live in his own vocation, and not to 
 seek any higher room than that whereunto he was at the 
 first, appointed ? Who would dig and delve from morn till 
 evening ? Who would travail and toil with the sweat of his 
 brows ? Yea, who would, for his King's pleasure, adventure 
 and hazard his life, if wit had not so won men that they 
 thought nothing more needful in this world nor anything 
 whereunto they were more bounden than here to live in 
 their duty and to train their whole life, according to their 
 calling. Therefore whereas men are in many things weakly 
 by nature, and subject to much infirmity; I think in this 
 one point they pass all other creatures living, that they have 
 the gift of speech and reason. 
 
 And among all other, I think him of most worthy fame, 
 and amongst men to be taken for half a god that therein doth 
 chiefly and above all other excel men ; wherein men do 
 excel beasts. For he that is among the reasonable, of all 
 the most reasonable ; and among the witty, of all the most 
 witty ; and among the eloquent, of all the most eloquent : 
 him, think I, among all men, not only to be taken for a 
 singular man, but rather to be counted for half a god. For 
 in seeking the excellency hereof, the sooner he draweth to 
 perfection the nigher he cometh to GOD, who is the chief 
 Wisdom : and therefore called GOD because He is the most 
 wise, or rather wisdom itself. 
 
 Now then seeing that GOD giveth heavenly grace unto 
 such as called unto him with outstretched hands and 
 humble heart ; never wanting to those that want not to 
 themselves: I purpose by His grace and especial assistance, 
 to set forth such precepts of eloquence, and to show what 
 observation the wise have used in handling of their matters : 
 that the unlearned by seeing the practice of others, may have 
 some knowledge themselves ; and learn by their neighbours' 
 device what is necessary for themselves in their own case.
 
 Sir PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 
 Letter to his brother ROBERT, then in 
 Germany^ 18 October 1580. 
 
 Sir PHILIP SIDNEY to his brother, ROBERT SIDNEY, 
 
 who was the first Earl of LEICESTER of that 
 
 familiar name. 
 
 MY DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 | OR THE money you have received, assure yourself 
 (for it is true) there is nothing I spend so pleaseth 
 me ; as that which is for you. If ever I have 
 ability, you shall find it so : if not, yet shall not 
 any brother living be better beloved than you, of me. 
 I cannot write now to N. WHITE. Do you excuse me ! 
 For his nephew, they are but passions in my father ; which 
 we must bear with reverence : but I am sorry he should 
 return till he had the circuit of his travel ; for you shall 
 never have such a servant, as he would prove. Use your own 
 discretion ! 
 
 For your countenance, I would (for no cause) have it 
 diminished in Germany. In Italy, your greatest expense 
 must be upon worthy men, and not upon householding. 
 Look to your diet, sweet ROBIN ! and hold up your heart in 
 courage and virtue. Truly, great part of my comfort is in 
 you ! I know not myself what I meant by bravery in you ; 
 so greatly you may see I condemn you. Be careful of 
 yourself, and I shall never have cares. 
 
 I have written to Master SAVELL. I wish you kept still 
 together. He is an excellent man. And there may, if you
 
 6 A HISTORY, EITHER A STORY OR TREATISE. R, 
 
 list, pass good exercises betwixt you and Master NEVELL. 
 There is great expectation of you both. 
 
 For method of writing history, BODEN hath written at 
 large. You may read him, and gather out of many words, 
 some matter. 
 
 This I think, in haste. A Story is either to be considered 
 as a Story ; or as a Treatise, which, besides that, addeth 
 many things for profit and ornament. As a Story, he is 
 nothing, but a narration of things done, with the begin- 
 nings, causes, and appendices thereof. In that kind, your 
 method must be to have seriem temporum very exactly, which 
 the chronologies of MELANCTHON, TARCHAGNORA, LANGUET 
 and such others will help you to. 
 
 Then to consider by that .... as you note yourself, 
 XENOPHON to follow THUCYDIDES, so doth THUCYDIDES follow 
 HERODOTUS, and DIODORUS SICULUS follow XENOPHON. So 
 generally, do the Roman stories follow the Greek ; and the 
 particular stories of the present monarchies follow the 
 Roman. 
 
 In that kind, you have principally to note the examples of 
 virtue and vice, with their good or evil success ; the 
 establishment or ruins of great Estates, with the causes, the 
 time, and circumstances of the laws then written of; the 
 enterings and endings of wars ; and therein, the stratagems 
 against the enemy, and the discipline upon the soldier. 
 
 And thus much as a very historiographer. 
 
 Besides this, the Historian makes himself a Discourser for 
 profit ; and an Orator, yea, a Poet sometimes, for ornament. 
 An Orator ; in making excellent orations, e re nata, which 
 are to be marked, but marked with the note of rhetorical 
 remembrances : a Poet ; in painting for the effects, the 
 motions, the whisperings of the people, which though in 
 disputation, one might say were true yet who will mark 
 them well shall find them taste of a poetical vein, and in that 
 kind are gallantly to be marked for though perchance, 
 they were not so, yet it is enough they might be so. The 
 last point which tends to teach profit, is of a Discourser; 
 which name I give to whosoever speaks non simpliciter de 
 facto, sed de qualitatibus et circumstantiis facti: and that is it
 
 QUALIFICATIONS OF A HISTORIAN. 7 
 
 which makes me and many others, rather note much with 
 our pen than with our mind. 
 
 Because we leave all these discourses to the confused trust 
 of our memory ; because they be not tied to the tenour of a 
 question : as Philosophers use sometimes, places; the Divine, 
 in telling his opinion and reasons in religion ; sometimes the 
 Lawyer, in showing the causes and benefits of laws ; some- 
 times a Natural Philosopher, in setting down the causes of 
 any strange thing which the Story binds him to speak of ; 
 but most commonly a Moral Philosopher, either in the 
 ethic part, where he sets forth virtues or vices and the 
 natures of passions; or in the politic, when he doth (as 
 often he doth) meddle sententiously with matters of Estate. 
 Again, sometimes he gives precept of war, both offensive 
 and defensive. And so, lastly, not professing any art as 
 his matter leads him, he deals with all arts ; which because 
 it carrieth the life of a lively example it is wonderful 
 what light it gives to the arts themselves ; so as the great 
 Civilians help themselves with the discourses of the Historians. 
 So do Soldiers ; and even Philosophers and Astronomers. 
 
 But that I wish herein is this, that when you read any 
 such thing, you straight bring it to his head, not only of 
 what art ; but by your logical subdivisions to the next member 
 and parcel of the art. And so as in a table be it witty 
 words, of which TACITUS is full ; sentences, of which LIVY ; 
 or similitudes, whereof PLUTARCH : straight to lay it up in 
 the right place of his storehouse as either military, or more 
 specially defensive military, or more particularly, defensive 
 by fortification and so lay it up. So likewise in politic 
 matters. And such a little table you may easily make 
 wherewith I would have you ever join the historical part; 
 which is only the example of some stratagem, or good 
 counsel, or such like. 
 
 This write I to you, in great haste, of method, without 
 method : but, with more leisure and study if I do not find 
 some book that satisfies I will venture to write more largely 
 of it unto you. 
 
 Master SAVELL will, with ease, help you to set down such 
 a table of remembrance to yourself; and for your sake I 
 perceive he will do much; and if ever I be able, I will 
 deserve it of him. One only thing, as it comes into my
 
 8 KEEP AND INCREASE YOUR MUSIC ! 
 
 mind, let me remember you of, that you consider wherein the 
 Historian excelleth, and that to note : as DION Nic^us in 
 the searching the secrets of government ; TACITUS, in the 
 pithy opening of the venom of wickedness; and so of the 
 rest. 
 
 My time exceedingly short will suffer me to write no 
 more leisurely. STEPHEN can tell you who stands with me, 
 while I am writing. 
 
 Now, dear brother! take delight likewise in the mathe- 
 maticals. Master SAVELL is excellent in them. I think you 
 understand the sphere. If you do, I care little for any more 
 astronomy in you. Arithmetic and Geometry, I would wish 
 you well seen in : so as both in matter of number and 
 measure, you might have a feeling and active judgment. I 
 would you did bear the mechanical instruments, wherein the 
 Dutch excel. 
 
 I write this to you as one, that for myself have given over 
 the delight in the world; but wish to you as much, if not 
 more, than to myself. 
 
 So you can speak and write Latin, not barbarously; I 
 never require great study in Ciceronianism, the chief abuse 
 of Oxford, qui dum verba sectantur, res tpsas negligunt. 
 
 My toyful books I will send with GOD's help by 
 February [1581] ; at which time you shall have your money. 
 And for 200 [nearly 2,000 at the present day] a year, 
 assure yourself! If the estates of England remain, you shall 
 not fail of it. Use it to your best profit! 
 
 My Lord of LEICESTER sends you 40, as I understand, by 
 STEPHEN ; and promiseth he will continue that stipend 
 yearly at the least. Then that is above commons. In any 
 case, write largely and diligently unto him : for, in truth, I 
 have good proof that he means to be every way good unto 
 you. The odd 30 shall come with the 100, or else my 
 father and I will jarle. 
 
 Now, sweet Brother, take a delight to keep and increase 
 your music. You will not believe what a want I find of it, 
 in my melancholy times. 
 
 At horsemanship ; when you exercise it, read CRISON 
 CLAUDIO, and a book that is called La Gloria de I' Cavallo 
 withal : that you may join the thorough contemplation of it
 
 SIR F. DRAKE'S RETURN HOME, RICH. 9 
 
 with the exercise : and so shall you profit more in a month, 
 than others in a year. And mark the bitting, saddling, and 
 cur[ry]ing of horses. 
 
 I would, by the way, your Worship would learn a better 
 hand. You write worse than I : and I write evil enough. 
 Once again, have a care of your diet ; and consequently of 
 your complexion. Remember gratior est veniens in pulchro 
 corpore virtus. 
 
 Now, Sir, for news ; I refer myself to this bearer. He can 
 tell you how idly we look on our neighbour's fires : and 
 nothing is happened notable at home ; save only DRAKE'S 
 return. Of which yet, I know not the secret points : but 
 about the world he hath been, and rich he is returned. 
 Portugal, we say, is lost. And to conclude, my eyes are 
 almost closed up, overwatched with tedious business. 
 
 God bless you, sweet Boy ! and accomplish the joyful hope 
 I conceive of you. Once again commend me to Master 
 NEVELL, Master SAVELL, and honest HARRY WHITE, and 
 bid him be merry. 
 
 When you play at weapons ; I would have you get thick 
 caps and bracers [gloves], and play out your play lustily; for 
 indeed, ticks and dalliances are nothing in earnest : for the 
 time of the one and the other greatly differs. And use as 
 well the blow as the thrust. It is good in itself; and besides 
 increaseth your breath and strength, and will make you a 
 strong man at the tourney and barriers. First, in any case, 
 practise the single sword ; and then, with the dagger. Let 
 no day pass without an hour or two of such exercise. The 
 rest, study; or confer diligently : and so shall you come home 
 to my comfort and credit. 
 
 Lord ! how I have babbled ! Once again, farewell, dearest 
 Brother ! 
 
 Your most loving and careful brother 
 
 PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 
 At Leicester House 
 
 this i8th of October 1580.
 
 10 
 
 FRANCIS MERES, M. A. 
 
 Sketch of English Literature, Painting, 
 and Music, up to September 1598. 
 
 A comparative Discourse of our English Poets [Painters 
 and Musicians] with the Greek, Latin, and Italian 
 Poets [Painters and Musicians]. 
 
 fS GREECE had three poets of great antiquity, 
 ORPHEUS, LINUS, and Mus^us; and Italy, other 
 three ancient poets, LIVIUS ANDRONICUS, ENNIUS, 
 and PLAUTUS: so hath England three ancient 
 poets, CHAUCER, GOWER, and LYDGATE. 
 As HOMER is reputed the Prince of Greek poets ; and 
 PETRARCH of Italian poets : so CHAUCER is accounted the 
 god of English poets. 
 
 As HOMER was the first that adorned the Greek tongue 
 with true quantity : so [WILLIAM LANGLAND, the author of) 
 PIERS PLOWMAN was the first that observed the true 
 quantity of our verse without the curiosity of rhyme.
 
 s^Si.] ENGLISH WRITERS OF LATIN VERSE, n 
 
 OVID writ a Chronicle from the beginning of the world 
 to his own time; that is, to the reign of AUGUSTUS the 
 Emperor : so hath HARDING the Chronicler (after his manner 
 of old harsh rhyming) from ADAM to his time; that is, to 
 the reign of King EDWARD IV. 
 
 As SOTADES Maronites, the Iambic poet, gave himself 
 wholly to write impure and lascivious things : so SKELTON 
 (I know not for what great worthiness, surnamed the 
 Poet Laureate) applied his wit to scurrilities and ridiculous 
 matters ; such [as] among the Greeks were called Pantomimi, 
 with us, buffoons. 
 
 As CONSALVO PEREZ, that excellent learned man, and 
 secretary to King PHILIP [II.] of Spain, in translating the 
 " Ulysses " [Odyssey] of HOMER out of Greek into Spanish, 
 hath, by good judgement, avoided the fault of rhyming, 
 although [he hath] not fully hit perfect and true versifying : 
 so hath HENRY HOWARD, that true and noble Earl of SURREY, 
 in translating the fourth book of VIRGIL'S jEneas : whom 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON in his England's Heroical Epistles hath 
 eternized for an Epistle to his fair GERALDINE. 
 
 As these Neoterics, JOVIANUS PONTANUS, POLITIANUS, 
 MARULLUSTARCHANIOTA, the two STROZ^E the father and the 
 son, PALINGENIUS, MANTUANUS, PHILELPHUS, QUINTIANUS 
 STOA, and GERMANUS BRIXIUS have obtained renown, and 
 good place among the ancient Latin poets : so also these 
 Englishmen, being Latin poets ; WALTER HADDON, 
 NICHOLAS CARR, GABRIEL HARVEY, CHRISTOPHER OCKLAND, 
 THOMAS NEWTON, with his LELAND, THOMAS WATSON, 
 THOMAS CAMPION, [JOHN] BRUNSWERD, and WILLEY have 
 attained [a] good report and honourable advancement in the 
 Latin empire [of letters]. 
 
 As the Greek tongue is made famous and eloquent by 
 HOMER, HESIOD, EURIPIDES, ^SCHYLUS, SOPHOCLES, PIN- 
 DARUS, PHOCYLIDES, and ARISTOPHANES; and the Latin 
 tongue by VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, SILIUS ITALICUS, LUCANUS, 
 LUCRETIUS, AUSONIUS, and CLAUDIANUS : so the English 
 tongue is mightily enriched, and gorgeously invested in
 
 12 SIDNEY, OUR RAREST POET. 
 
 ornaments and resplendent habiliments by Sir PHILIP 
 SYDNEY, SPENSER, DANIEL, DRAYTON, WARNER, SHAKE- 
 SPEARE, MARLOW, and CHAPMAN. 
 
 As XENOPHON, who did imitate so excellently as to give 
 us effigiemjusti imperil, "the portraiture of a just empire " 
 under the name of CYRUS, (as CICERO saith of him) made 
 therein an absolute heroical poem ; and as HELIODORUS 
 wrote in prose, his sugared invention of that picture of love in 
 THEAGINES and CARICLEA ; and yet both excellent admired 
 poets : so Sir PHILIP SIDNEY writ his immortal poem, The 
 Countess of PEMBROKE'S "Arcadia" in prose; and yet our 
 rarest poet. 
 
 As SEXTUS PROPERTIUS said, Nescio quid magis nascitur 
 lliade : so I say of SPENSER'S Fairy Queen ; I know not what 
 more excellent or exquisite poem may be written. 
 
 As ACHILLES had the advantage of HECTOR, because it 
 was his fortune to be extolled and renowned by the heavenly 
 verse of HOMER: so SPENSER'S ELIZA, the Fairy Queen, hath 
 the advantage of all the Queens in the world, to be eternized 
 by so divine a poet. 
 
 As THEOCRITUS is famoused for his Idyllia in Greek, and 
 VIRGIL for his Eclogues in Latin : so SPENSER their imitator 
 in his Shepherds Calendar is renowned for the like argument ; 
 and honoured for fine poetical invention, and most exquisite wit. 
 
 As PARTHENIUS Nicaeus excellently sang the praises of 
 ARETE: so DANIEL hath divinely sonnetted the matchless 
 beauty of DELIA. 
 
 As every one mourneth, when he hearethof the lamentable 
 plangors [plaints] of [the] Thracian ORPHEUS for his dearest 
 EURYDICE : so every one passionateth, when he readeth the 
 afflicted death of DANIEL'S distressed ROSAMOND. 
 
 As LUCAN hath mournfully depainted the Civil Wars of 
 POMPEY and C^SAR: so hath DANIEL, the Civil Wars of 
 York and Lancaster ; and DRAYTON, the Civil Wars of 
 EDWARD II. and the Barons. 
 
 As VIRGIL doth imitate CATULLUS in the like matter of 
 ARIADNE, for his story of Queen DIDO: so MICHAEL 
 DRAYTON doth imitate OVID in his England's Heroical 
 Epistles. 
 
 As SOPHOCLES was called a Bee for the sweetness of his 
 tongue : so in CHARLES FITZ-GEFFRY'S DRAKE, DRAYTON is
 
 sep^'i^s.] WILLIAM WARNER, OUR ENGLISH HOMER! 13 
 
 termed "golden-mouthed," for the purity and preciousness of 
 his style and phrase. 
 
 As Accius, MARCUS ATILIUS, and MILITHUS were called 
 Tragaediographi ; because they writ tragedies : so we may 
 truly term MICHAEL DRAYTON, Tragaediographus : for his pas- 
 sionate penning [the poem of] the downfalls of valiant ROBERT 
 of NORMANDY, chaste MATILDA, and great GAVESTON. 
 
 As JOANNES HONTERUS, in Latin verse, wrote three books 
 of Cosmography, with geographical tables; so MICHAEL 
 DRAYTON is now in penning in English verse, a poem called 
 Poly-olbion [which is] geographical and hydrographical of all 
 the forests, woods, mountains, fountains, rivers, lakes, floods, 
 baths [spas], and springs that be in England. 
 
 As AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS is reported, among all 
 writers to [have] been of an honest life and upright con- 
 versation : so MICHAEL DRAYTON, quern toties honoris et 
 amoris causa nomino, among scholars, soldiers, poets, and all 
 sorts of people, is held for a man of virtuous disposition, 
 honest conversation, and well governed carriage : which is 
 almost miraculous among good wits in these declining and 
 corrupt times; when there is nothing but roguery in villainous 
 man, and when cheating and craftiness are counted the 
 cleanest wit and soundest wisdom. 
 
 As DECIUS AUSONIUS Gallus, in libris Fastorum, penned 
 the occurrences of the world from the first creation of it to 
 this time ; that is, to the reign of the Emperor GRATIAN : so 
 WARNER, in his absolute Albion's England, hath most admir- 
 ably penned the history of his own country from NOAH to his 
 time, that is, to the reign of Queen ELIZABETH. I have heard 
 him termed of the best wits of both our Universities, our 
 English HOMER. 
 
 As EURIPIDES is the most sententious among the Greek 
 poets : so is WARNER among our English poets. 
 
 As the soul of EUPHORBUS was thought to live in PYTHA- 
 GORAS : so the sweet witty soul of OVID lives in mellifluous 
 and honey-tongued SHAKESPEARE. Witness his VENUS and 
 ADONIS ; his L UCRECE ; his sugared Sonnets, among his private 
 friends ; &c. 
 
 As PLAUTUS and SENECA are accounted the best for Comedy 
 and Tragedy among the Latins: so SHAKESPEARE among the 
 English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage.
 
 14 SHAKESPEARE, STH POET; IST DRAMATIST, 
 
 For Comedy : witness his Gentlemen of Verona ; his [Comedy 
 of] Errors; his Love's Labour's Lost; his Love's Labour's Won 
 [ ? All's Well that Ends Well] his Midsummer Night's Dream; 
 and his Merchant of Venice. 
 
 For Tragedy: his RICHARD II. , RICHARD HI., HENRY 
 IV., King JOHN, TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his ROMEO and 
 JULIET. 
 
 As EPIUS STOLO said that the Muses would speak with 
 PLAUTUS'S tongue, if they would speak Latin : so I say that 
 the Muses would speak with SHAKESPEARE'S fine filed phrase ; 
 if they would speak English. 
 
 As MUS.BUS, who wrote the love of HERO and LEANDER, had 
 two excellent scholars, THAMYRAS and HERCULES ; so hath 
 he [MuSMUS] in England, two excellent poets, imitators 
 of him in the same argument and subject, CHRISTOPHER 
 MARLOW and GEORGE CHAPMAN. 
 
 As OVID saith of his work, 
 
 Jamque opus exegi, quod nee Jo VIS ira, nee ignis, 
 Nee poterit ferrum, nee edax abolere vetustas; 
 
 And as HORACE saith of his, 
 
 Exegi monumentum are perennius 
 Regalique situ Pyramidum altius, 
 Quod non imber edax, non A quilo impotcns 
 Possit diruere, aut innumerabilis 
 Annorum series, etfuga temporum : 
 
 So I say, severally, of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY'S, SPENSER'S 
 DANIEL'S, DRAYTON'S, SHAKESPEARE'S, and WARNER'S works, 
 
 Non JOVIS ira : imbres : MARS : ferrum : flamma : senectus : 
 Hoc opus unda : lues : turbo : venena ruent. 
 Etquanquam ad pulcherrimum hoc opus evertendum, tres illi Dii 
 conspirabunt, CHRONUS, VULCANUS, et PATER ipsegentis. 
 Non tamen annorum series, non flamma, nee ensis ; 
 Sternum potuit hoc abolere Decus. 
 
 As Italy had DANTE, BOCCACE [BoccACio], PETRARCH, 
 TASSO, CELIANO, and ARIOSTO : so England had MATTHEW 
 ROYDON, THOMAS ATCHELOW, THOMAS WATSON, THOMAS 
 KYD, ROBERT GREENE, and GEORGE PEELE.
 
 sip 3 ?^.] OUR HEROIC, LYRIC, AND TRAGIC POETS. 15 
 
 As there are eight famous and chief languages ; Hebrew, 
 Greek, Latin, Syriac, Arabic, Italian, Spanish, and French ; 
 so there are eight notable several kinds of poets, [1] Heroic, 
 [2] Lyric, [3] Tragic, [4] Comic, [5] Satiric, [6] Iambic, 
 [7] Elegiac, and [8] Pastoral. 
 
 [1] As HOMER and VIRGIL among the Greeks and Latins 
 are the chief Heroic poets : so SPENSER and WARNER be our 
 chief heroical " makers." 
 
 [2] As PINDARUS, ANACREON,and CALLIMACHUS, among the 
 Greeks ; and HORACE and CUTALLUS among the Latins 
 are the best Lyric poets : so in this faculty, the best among 
 our poets are SPENSER, who excelleth in all kinds ; DANIEL, 
 DRAYTON, SHAKESPEARE, BRETON. 
 
 [3] As these Tragic poets flourished in Greece : ^ESCHYLUS, 
 EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, ALEXANDER ^Etolus; ACH^BUS 
 ERITHRICEUS, ASTYDAMAS Atheniensis, APOLLODORUS Tar- 
 sensis, NICOMACHUS Phrygius, THESPIS Atticus, and TIMON 
 APOLLONIATES ; and these among the Latins, Accius, 
 MARCUS ATILIUS, POMPONUS SECUNDUS, and SENECA : so 
 these are our best for Tragedy; The Lord BUCKHURST, 
 Doctor LEG, of Cambridge, Doctor EDES, of Oxford, Master 
 EDWARD FERRIS, the author[s] of the Mirror for Magis- 
 trates, MARLOW, PEELE, WATSON, KYD, SHAKESPEARE, 
 DRAYTON, CHAPMAN, DECKER, and BENJAMIN JOHNSON. 
 
 AsMARCUS ANNEUS LUCANUS writ two excellent tragedies; 
 one called MEDEA, the other De incendio Troja cum PRIAMI 
 calamitate : so Doctor LEG hath penned two famous tragedies ; 
 the one of RICHARD III., the other of The Destruction of 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 [4] The best poets for Comedy among the Greeks are these : 
 MENANDER, ARISTOPHANES, EUPOLIS Atheniensis, ALEXIS 
 Terius, NICOSTRATUS, AMIPSIAS Atheniensis, ANAXANDRIDES 
 Rhodeus, ARISTONYMUS, ARCHIPPUS Atheniensis, and CALLIAS 
 Atheniensis ; and among the Latins, PLAUTUS, TERENCE, 
 N^vius, SEXTUS TURPILIUS, LICINIUS IMBREX, and 
 VIRGILIUS Romanus : so the best for Comedy amongst us be 
 EDWARD [VERB], Earl of OXFORD ; Doctor GAGER, of Oxford; 
 Master ROWLEY, once a rare scholar of learned Pembroke 
 Hall in Cambridge ; Master EDWARDES, one of Her Majesty's 
 Chapel ; eloquent and witty JOHN LILLY, LODGE, GASCOIGNE, 
 GREENE, SHAKESPEARE, THOMAS NASH, THOMAS HEYWOOD,
 
 1 6 OUR COMIC, IAMBIC, AND ELEGIAC POETS. [< 
 
 ANTHONY MUNDAY, our best plotter; CHAPMAN, PORTER, 
 WILSON, HATHWAY, and HENRY CHETTLE. 
 
 [5] As HORACE, LUCILIUS, JUVENAL, PERSIUS, and LUCUL- 
 LUS are the best for Satire among the Latins : so with us, 
 in the same faculty, these are chief [WILLIAM LANGLAND, the 
 author of] PIERS PLOWMAN, [T.] LODGE, [JOSEPH] HALL of 
 Emmanuel College in Cambridge [afterwards Bishop of 
 NORWICH] ; [JOHN MARSTON] the Author of PYGMALION'S 
 Image, and certain Satires ; the Author of Skialetheia. 
 
 [6] Among the Greeks, I will name but two for Iambics, 
 ARCHILOCHUS Parius and HIPPONAX Ephesius : so amongst 
 us, I name but two lambical poets ; GABRIEL HARVEY and 
 RICHARD STANYHURST, because I have seen no more in this 
 kind. 
 
 [7] As these are famous among the Greeks for Elegies, 
 MELANTHUS, MYMNERUS Colophonius, OLYMPIUS Mysius, 
 PARTHENIUS Nicoeus, PHILETAS Cous, THEOGENES Megaren- 
 sis, and PIGRES Halicarnassoeus; and these among the Latins, 
 
 MAECENAS, OVID, TlBULLUS, PROPERTIUS, C. VALGIUS, 
 
 CASSIUS SEVERUS, and CLODIUS Sabinus : so these are the 
 most passionate among us to bewail and bemoan the per- 
 plexities of love, HENRY HOWARD, Earl of SURREY, Sir 
 THOMAS WYATT the Elder, Sir FRANCIS BRYAN, Sir PHILIP 
 SIDNEY, Sir WALTER RALEIGH, Sir EDWARD DYER, SPENSER, 
 DANIEL, DRAYTON, SHAKESPEARE, WHETSTONE, GASCOIGNE, 
 SAMUEL PAGE sometime Fellow of Corpus Christi College 
 in Oxford, CHURCHYARD, BRETON. 
 
 [8] As THEOCRITUS in Greek; VIRGIL and MANTUAN in 
 Latin, SANNAZAR in Italian, and [THOMAS WATSON] the 
 Author of AMINTM Gaudia and WALSINGHAM'S MELIBCEUS 
 are the best for Pastoral : so amongst us the best in this 
 kind are Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Master CHALLONER, SPENSER, 
 STEPHEN GOSSON, ABRAHAM FRAUNCE, and BARNFIELD. 
 
 These and many other Epigrammatists, the Latin tongue 
 hath ; Q. CATULLUS, PORCIUS LICINIUS, QUINTUS CORNI- 
 FICIUS, MARTIAL, CNCEUS GETULICUS, and witty Sir THOMAS 
 MORE : so in English we have these, HEYWOOD, DRANT, 
 KENDAL, BASTARD, DAVIES.
 
 s^TwO OUR PASTORAL, AND EPIGRAMMATIC POETS. 1 7 
 
 As noble MAECENAS, that sprang from the Etruscan Kings, 
 not only graced poets by his bounty, but also by being a poet 
 himself; and as JAMES VI., now King of Scotland, is not only a 
 favourer of poets, but a poet ; as my friend Master RICHARD 
 BARNFELD hath in this distich passing well recorded, 
 
 The King of Scots now living is a poet, 
 As his Lepanto and his Furies show it : 
 
 so ELIZABETH, our dread Sovereign and gracious Queen, is not 
 only a liberal Patron unto poets, but an excellent poet her- 
 self ; whose learned, delicate and noble Muse surmounteth, 
 be it in Ode, Elegy, Epigram ; or in any other kind of poem, 
 Heroic or Lyric. 
 
 OCTAVIA, sister unto AUGUSTUS the Emperor, was exceed- 
 ingly] bountiful unto VIRGIL, who gave him for making 
 twenty-six verses, "1,137, to wit, ten sestertice for every 
 verse (which amounted to above 43 for every verse) : so 
 learned MARY, the honourable Countess of PEMBROKE [and] 
 the noble sister of the immortal Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, is very 
 liberal unto poets. Besides, she is a most delicate poet, of 
 whom I may say, as ANTIPATER Sidonius writeth of SAPPHO : 
 
 Dulcia Mnemosyne demirans carmina Sapphus, 
 Qucesivit decima, Pieris unde ford. 
 
 Among others, in times past, poets had these favourers ; 
 AUGUSTUS, MAECENAS, SOPHOCLES, GERMANICUS; an Emperor, 
 a Nobleman, a Senator, and a Captain : so of later times, poets 
 have [had] these patrons ; ROBERT, King of Sicily, the great 
 King FRANCIS [I.] of France, King JAMES of Scotland, and 
 Queen ELIZABETH of England. 
 
 As in former times, two great Cardinals, BEMBA and BIENA 
 did countenance poets : so of late years, two great Preachers, 
 have given them their right hands in fellowship ; BEZA and 
 MELANCTHON. 
 
 As the learned philosophers FRACASTORIUS and SCALIGER 
 have highly prized them : so have the eloquent orators, 
 PONTANUS and MURETUS very gloriously estimated them. 
 
 As GEORGIUS BUCHANANUS' JEPTHM, amongst all modern 
 
 B 7
 
 1 8 OUR EMBLEM AND TRANSLATING POETS. [s 
 
 tragedies, is able to abide the touch of ARISTOTLE'S precepts 
 and EURIPIDES'S examples: so is Bishop WATSON'S A BSALOM. 
 
 As TERENCE for his translations out of APOLLODORUS and 
 MENANDER, and AQUILIUS for his translation out of 
 MENANDER, and C. GERMANICUS AUGUSTUS for his out of 
 ARATUS, and AUSONIUS for his translated Epigrams out of 
 [the] Greek, and Doctor JOHNSON for his Frog-fight out of 
 HOMER, and WATSON for his ANTIGONE out of SOPHOCLES, 
 have got good commendations : so these versifiers for their 
 learned translations, are of good note among us ; PHAER 
 foi VIRGIL'S ^Eneid, GOLDING for OVID'S Metamorphosis, 
 HARINGTON for his ORLANDO Furioso, the Translators of 
 SENECA'S Tragedies, BARNABE GOOGE for PALINGENIUS'S 
 [Zodiac of Life], TURBERVILLE for OVID'S Epistles and 
 MANTUAN, and CHAPMAN for his inchoate HOMER. 
 
 As the Latins have these Emblematists, ANDREAS 
 ALCIATUS, REUSNERUS, and SAMBUCUS: so we have these, 
 GEFFREY WHITNEY, ANDREW WILLET, and THOMAS COMBE. 
 
 As NONNUS PANAPOLYTA wrote the Gospel of Saint JOHN 
 in Greek hexameters: so GERVASE MARKHAM hath written 
 SOLOMON'S Canticles in English verse. 
 
 As CORNELIUS PLINIUS writ the life of POMPONUS 
 SECUNDUS : so young CHARLES FITZ-GEFFERY, that high 
 towering falcon, hath most gloriously penned The honourable 
 Lije and Death of worthy Sir FRANCIS DRAKE. 
 
 As HESIOD wrote learnedly of husbandry in Greek: so 
 TUSSER [hathj very wittily and experimentally written of it 
 in English. 
 
 As ANTIPATER Sidonius was famous for extemporal verse in 
 Greek, and OVID for his 
 
 Quicquid conabar dicer e versus erat : 
 
 so was our TARLETON, of whom Doctor CASE, that learned 
 physician, thus speaketh in the Seventh Book and lyth 
 chapter of his Politics. 
 
 A RISTOTLES suum THEODORETUM laudavit quendam peritum 
 Tragadiarum actorem, ClCERO suum RosciUM : nos Angli 
 TARLETONUM, in cujus voce et vultu omnes jocosi affectus, in 
 cujus cerebroso capite lepidce facetia habitant. 
 
 And so is now our witty [THOMAS] WILSON, who, for
 
 &"T8.] MERES'S ADDRESS TO TOM NASH. 19 
 
 learning and extemporal wit in this faculty, is without com- 
 pare or compeer ; as to his great and eternal commendations, 
 he manifested in his challenge at the Swan, on the Bank 
 Side. 
 
 As ACHILLES tortured the dead body of HECTOR ; and as 
 ANTONIUS and his wife FULVIA tormented the lifeless corpse 
 of CICERO ; so GABRIEL HARVEY hath showed the same 
 inhumanity to GREENE, that lies full low in his grave. 
 
 As EUPOLIS of Athens used great liberty in taxing the vices 
 of men : so doth THOMAS NASH. Witness the brood of the 
 HARVEYS ! 
 
 As ACTION was worried of his own hounds : so is TOM NASH 
 of his Isle of Dogs. Dogs were the death of EURIPIDES ; but 
 be not disconsolate, gallant young JUVENAL! LINUS, the son of 
 APOLLO, died the same death. Yet GOD forbid that so brave 
 a wit should so basely perish ! Thine are but paper dogs, 
 neither is thy banishment like OVID'S, eternally to converse 
 with the barbarous Getce. Therefore comfort thyself, sweet 
 TOM ! with CICERO'S glorious return to Rome ; and with the 
 counsel ^ENEAS gives to his seabeaten soldiers, Lib i, &neid. 
 
 Pluck up thine heart ! and drive from thence both fear 
 
 and care away ! 
 
 To think on this, may pleasure be perhaps another day. 
 Durato, et temet rebus servato secundis. 
 
 As ANACREON died by the pot : so GEORGE PEELE, by the 
 pox. 
 
 As ARCHESILAUS PRYTANCEUS perished by wine at a drunken 
 feast, as HERMIPPUS testifieth in DIOGENES: so ROBERT 
 GREENE died by a surfeit taken of pickled herrings and 
 Rhenish wine ; as witnesseth THOMAS NASH, who was at the 
 fatal banquet. 
 
 As JODELLE, a French tragical poet, being an epicure 
 and an atheist, made a pitiful end : so our tragical poet 
 MARLOW, for his Epicurism and Atheism, had a tragical death; 
 as you may read of this MARLOW more at large, in the Theatre 
 of GOD'S judgments, in the 25th chapter, entreating of Epicures 
 and A theists. 
 
 As the poet LYCOPHRON was shot to death by a certain rival 
 of his : so CHRISTOPHER MARLOW was stabbed to death by 
 a baudy Servingman, a rival of his, in his lewd love.
 
 20 ENGLISH ELIZABETHAN PAINTERS. [ 
 
 PAINTERS. 
 
 IPELLES painted a mare and a dog so lively [lifelike], 
 that horses and dogs passing by would neigh and 
 bark at them. He grew so famous for his excellent 
 art, that great ALEXANDER came often to his shop to 
 visit him, and commanded that none other should paint him. 
 At his death, he left VENUS unfinished; neither was any 
 [one] ever found, that durst perfect what he had begun. 
 
 ZEUXIS was so excellent in painting, that it was easier for 
 any man to view his pictures tha/i to imitate them ; who, to 
 make an excellent table [picture], had five Agrigentine virgins 
 naked by him. He painted grapes so lively, that birds did fly 
 to eat them. 
 
 PARRHASIUS painted a sheet [curtain] so artificially, that 
 ZEUXIS took it for a sheet indeed ; and commanded it to be 
 taken away, to see the picture that he thought it had veiled. 
 
 As learned and skilful Greece had these excellently renowned 
 for their limning ; so England hath these : HILIARD, ISAAC 
 OLIVER, and JOHN DE CREETES, very famous for their painting. 
 
 As Greece moreover had these painters, TIMANTES, 
 PHIDIAS, POLIGNOTUS, PANEUS, BULARCHUS, EUMARUS, 
 CIMON CLEONCEUS, PYTHIS, APPOLLODORUS Atheniensis, 
 ARISTIDES Thebanus, NICOPHANES, PERSEUS, ANTIPHILUS, 
 and NICEARCHUS : so in England, we have also these ; 
 WILLIAM and FRANCIS SEGAR, brethren ; THOMAS and JOHN 
 BETTES; LOCKEY, LYNE, PEAKE, PETER COLE, ARNOLDE, 
 MARCUS, JACQUES DE BRAY, CORNELIUS, PETER GOLCHIS, 
 HIERONIMO and PETER VAN DE VELDE. 
 
 As LYSIPPUS, PRAXITELES, and PYRGOTELESwere excellent 
 engravers : so we have these engravers ; ROGERS, CHRIS- 
 TOPHER SWITSER, and CURE. 
 
 Music. 
 
 |HE LOADSTONE draweth iron unto it, but the stone of 
 Ethiopia called Theamedes driveth it away : so there 
 is a kind of music that doth assuage and appease 
 the affections, and a kind that doth kindle and 
 provoke the passions.
 
 sE^SS'l EXCELLENT MUSICIANS IN ENGLAND. 21 
 
 As there is no law that hath sovereignty over love ; so 
 there is no heart that hath rule over music, but music 
 subdues it. 
 
 As one day takes from us the credit of another : so one 
 strain of music extincts [extinguishes] the pleasure of another. 
 
 As the heart ruleth over all the members : so music over- 
 cometh the heart. 
 
 As beauty is not beauty without virtue : so music is not 
 music without art. 
 
 As all things love their likes : so the more curious ear, the 
 delicatest music. 
 
 As too much speaking hurts, too much galling smarts ; so 
 too much music gluts and distempereth. 
 
 As PLATO and ARISTOTLE are accounted Princes in 
 philosophy and logic ; HIPPOCRATES and GALEN, in physic ; 
 PTOLOMY in astromony ; EUCLID in geometry ; and CICERO 
 in eloquence : so BOETIUS is esteemed a Prince and captain in 
 music. 
 
 As Priests were famous among the Egyptians; Magi among 
 the Chaldeans, and Gymnosophists among the Indians ; so 
 Musicians flourished among the Grecians : and therefore 
 EPAMINONDAS was accounted more unlearned than THEMIS- 
 TOCLES, because he had no skill in music. 
 
 As MERCURY, by his eloquence, reclaimed men from their 
 barbarousness and cruelty : so ORPHEUS, by his music, subdued 
 fierce beasts and wild birds. 
 
 As DEMOSTHENES, ISOCRATES, and CICERO, excelled in 
 oratory : so ORPHEUS, AMPHION, and LINUS surpassed in 
 music. 
 
 As Greece had these excellent musicians, ARION, DORCEUS, 
 TIMOTHEUS Milesius, CHRYSOGONUS, TERPANDER, LESBIUS, 
 SIMON Magnesius, PHILAMON, LINUS, STRATONICUS, ARIS- 
 TONUS, CHIRON, ACHILLES, CLINIAS, EUMONIUS, DEMO- 
 DOCHUS, and RUFFINUS: so England hath these, Master 
 COOPER, Master FAIRFAX, Master TALLIS, Master TAVERNER, 
 Master BLITHMAN, Master BYRD, Doctor TIE, Doctor 
 DALLIS, Doctor BULL, Master THOMAS MUD, sometime 
 Fellow of Pembroke Hall in Cambridge, Master EDWARD 
 JOHNSON, Master BLANKES, Master RANDALL, Master PHILIPS, 
 Master DOWLAND, and Master MORLEY.
 
 22 
 
 SATIRISTS ARE VERY PROFITABLE. 
 
 A Choice is to be had in Reading of Books. 
 
 IS THE Lord DE LA NOUE in the sixth Discourse of his 
 Politic and Military Discourses, censureth the books 
 of AMADIS de Gaul} which, he saith, are no less 
 hurtful to youth than the works of MACHIAVELLI 
 
 to age : so these books are accordingly to be censured of, 
 
 whose names follow. 
 
 BEVIS of Hampton. 
 GUY of Warwick. 
 ARTHUR of the Round Table. 
 HUON of Bordeaux. 
 OLIVER of Castile. 
 The Four Sons of A YMON. 
 GARGANTUA. 
 GIRELEON. 
 
 The Honour of Chivalry. 
 PRIMALEON of Greece. 
 PALERMIN DE OLIVA. 
 The Seven Champions [of 
 Christendom]. 
 
 The Mirror of Knighthood. 
 
 BLANCHARDINE. 
 
 MERVIN. 
 
 OWLGLASS. 
 
 The Stories of PALLADIN and 
 
 PALMENDOS. 
 The Black Knight. 
 The Maiden Knight. 
 The History of CMLESTINA. 
 The Castle of Fame. 
 GALLIAN of France. 
 ORNATUS and ARTESIA. 
 
 Poets. 
 
 JS THAT ship is endangered where all lean to one side ; 
 but is in safety, one leaning one way and another 
 another way : so the dissensions of Poets among 
 themselves, doth make them, that they less infect 
 their readers. And for this purpose, our Satirists [JOSEPH] 
 HALL [afterwards Bishop of NORWICH], [JOHN MARSTON] the 
 Author of PYGMALION'S Image and Certain Satires, [JOHN] 
 RANKINS, and such others, are very profitable.
 
 2 3 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 Dedicatory Epistle to The Rival Ladies. 
 
 [Printed in 1664.] 
 
 To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 | His worthless present was designed you, long be- 
 fore it was a Play ; when it was only a confused 
 mass of thoughts tumbling over one another in 
 the dark : when the Fancy was yet in its first 
 work, moving the sleeping Images of Things to- 
 wards the light, there to be distinguished ; and then, either 
 chosen or rejected by the Judgement. It was yours, my Lord ! 
 before I could call it mine. 
 
 And I confess, in that first tumult of my thoughts, there 
 appeared a disorderly kind of beauty in some of them ; which 
 gave me hope, something worthy of my Lord of ORRERY 
 might be drawn from them : but I was then, in that eager- 
 ness of Imagination, which, by over pleasing Fanciful Men, 
 flatters them into the danger of writing ; so that, when I had 
 moulded it to that shape it now bears, I looked with such dis- 
 gust upon it, that the censures of our severest critics are 
 charitable to what I thought, and still think of it myself. 
 
 *Tis so far from me, to believe this perfect ; that I am apt to 
 conclude our best plays are scarcely so. For the Stage being 
 the Representation of the World and the actions in it ; how 
 can it be imagined that the Picture of Human Life can be 
 more exact than Life itself is ? 
 
 He may be allowed sometimes to err, who undertakes to 
 move so many Characters and Humours (as are requisite in a 
 Play) in those narrow channels, which are proper to each of 
 them ; to conduct his Imaginary Persons through so many 
 various intrigues and chances, as the labouring Audience 
 shall think them lost under every billow : and then, at length, 
 to work them so naturally out of their distresses, that when 
 the whole Plot is laid open, the Spectators may rest satisfied 
 that every Cause was powerful enough to produce the Effect 
 it had ; and that the whole Chain of them was, with such
 
 24 LORD ORRERY A VICTIM TO THE GOUT. 
 
 due order, linked together, that the first Accident [Incident] 
 would, naturally, beget the second, till they All rendered 
 the Conclusion necessary. 
 
 These difficulties, my Lord ! may reasonably excuse the 
 errors of my Undertaking: but for this confidence of my 
 Dedication, I have an argument, which is too advantageous 
 for me not to publish it to the World. 'Tis the kindness 
 your Lordship has continually shown to all my writings. 
 You have been pleased, my Lord ! they should sometimes 
 cross the Irish seas, to kiss your hands ; which passage, con- 
 trary to the experience of others, I have found the least 
 dangerous in the world. Your favour has shone upon me, at a 
 remote distance, without the least knowledge of my person : 
 and, like the influence of the heavenly bodies, you have done 
 good, without knowing to whom you did it. 'Tis this virtue in 
 your Lordship, which emboldens me to this attempt. For 
 did I not consider you as my Patron, I have little reason to 
 desire you for my Judge: and should appear, with as much 
 awe before you, in the Reading; as I had, when the full 
 theatre sate upon the Action. 
 
 For who so severely judge of faults, as he who has given 
 testimony he commits none ? Your excellent Poems having 
 afforded that knowledge of it to the World, that your enemies 
 are ready to upbraid you with it as a crime, for a Man of 
 Business to write so well. Neither durst I have justified 
 your Lordship in it, if examples of it had not been in the 
 world before you : if XENOPHON had not written a Romance ; 
 and a certain Roman, called AUGUSTUS CAESAR, a Tragedy 
 and Epigrams. But their writing was the entertainment of 
 their pleasure ; yours is only a diversion of your pain. The 
 Muses have seldom employed your thoughts, but when some 
 violent fit of the gout has snatched you from Affairs of State : 
 and, like the priestess of APOLLO, you never come to deliver 
 his oracles, but unwillingly, and in torment. So that we are 
 obliged to your Lordship's misery, for our delight. You treat 
 us with the cruel pleasure of a Turkish triumph, where those 
 who cut and wound their bodies, sing songs of victory as they 
 pass; and divert others with their own sufferings. Other 
 men endure their diseases, your Lordship only can enjoy them ! 
 
 Plotting and Writing in this kind, are, certainly, more 
 troublesome employments than many which signify more,
 
 SKILFUL TITILATION OF A NOBLE AUTHOR. 25 
 
 and are of greater moment in the world. The Fancy, Memory, 
 and Judgement are then extended, like so many limbs, upon 
 the rack ; all of them reaching, with their utmost stress, at 
 Nature : a thing so almost infinite and boundless, as can 
 never fully be comprehended but where the Images of all 
 things are always present. 
 
 Yet I wonder not your Lordship succeeds so well in this 
 attempt. The knowledge of men is your daily practice in the 
 world. To work and bend their stubborn minds ; which go 
 not all after the same grain, but, each of them so particular 
 a way, that the same common humours, in several persons, 
 must be wrought upon by several means. 
 
 Thus, my Lord ! your sickness is but the imitation of your 
 health ; the Poet but subordinate to the Statesman in you. 
 You still govern men with the same address, and manage 
 business with the same prudence : allowing it here, as in the 
 world, the due increase and growth till it comes to the just 
 height ; and then turning it, when it is fully ripe, and Nature 
 calls out (as it were) to be delivered. With this only ad- 
 vantage of ease to you, in your Poetry: that you have 
 Fortune, here, at your command : with which, Wisdom does 
 often unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is no 
 Chance, which you have not foreseen. All your heroes are 
 more than your subjects, they are your creatures : and, 
 though they seem to move freely, in all the sallies of their 
 passions ; yet, you make destinies for them, which they can- 
 not shun. They are moved, if I may dare to say so, like the 
 rational creatures of the Almighty Poet ; who walk at 
 liberty, in their own opinion, because their fetters are in- 
 vincible : when, indeed, the Prison of their Will is the more 
 sure, for being large ; and instead of an Absolute Power over 
 their actions, they have only a Wretched Desire of doing that, 
 which they cannot choose but do. 
 
 I have dwelt, my Lord ! thus long, upon your Writing ; not 
 because you deserve not greater and more noble commenda- 
 tions, but because I am not equally able to express them in 
 other subjects. Like an ill swimmer, I have willingly stayed 
 long in my own depth ; and though I am eager of performing 
 more, yet I am loath to venture out beyond my knowledge. 
 For beyond your Poetry, my Lord ! all is Ocean to me. 
 
 To speak of you as a Soldier, or a Statesman, were only
 
 26 WRITING PLAYS IN RHYME is NOT A [ J T 
 
 to betray my own ignorance: and I could hope no better suc- 
 cess from it, than that miserable Rhetorician had, who so- 
 lemnly declaimed before HANNIBAL "of the Conduct of Armies, 
 and the Art of War." I can only say, in general, that the 
 Souls of other men shine out at little cranies ; they under- 
 stand some one thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they 
 are darkened on all the other parts : but your Lordship's 
 Soul is an entire Globe of Light, breaking out on every side ; 
 and if I have only discovered one beam of it, 'tis not that the 
 light falls unequally, but because the body which receives it, 
 is of unequal parts. 
 
 The acknowledgement of which, is a fair occasion offered 
 me, to retire from the consideration of your Lordship to that of 
 myself. I here present you, my Lord ! with that in Print, 
 which you had the goodness not to dislike upon the Stage ; 
 and account it happy to have met you here in England : 
 it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out upon the 
 place [i.e., of vintage, where produced] ; and has not body enough 
 to endure the sea. 
 
 I know not, whether I have been so careful of the Plot and 
 Language, as I ought: but for the latter, I have endeavoured 
 to write English, as near as I could distinguish it from the 
 tongue of pedants, and that of affected travellers. Only, I 
 am sorry that, speaking so noble a language as we do, we 
 have not a more certain Measure of it, as they have in France: 
 where they have an "Academy" erected for that purpose, 
 and endowed with large privileges by the present King 
 [Louis XIV.]. I wish, we might, at length, leave to borrow 
 words from other nations ; which is now a wantonness in 
 us, not a necessity : but so long as some affect to speak 
 them, there will not want others who will have the boldness 
 to write them. 
 
 But I fear, lest defending the received words ; I shall be 
 accused for following the New Way : I mean, of writing 
 Scenes in Verse ; though, to speak properly, 'tis no so much 
 a New Way amongst us, as an Old Way new revived. For, 
 many years [i.e., 1561] before SHAKESPEARE'S Plays, was the 
 Tragedy of Queen [or rather King] GORBODUC [of which, how- 
 ever, the authentic title is " FERREX and PORREX "] in English 
 Verse; written by that famous Lord BUCKHURST, afterwards 
 Earl of DORSET, and progenitor to that excellent Person,
 
 ] NEW WAY, BUT AN OLD ONE REVIVED. 27 
 
 [Lord BUCKHURST, see p. 503] who, as he inherits his Soul 
 and Title, I wish may inherit his good fortune ! 
 
 But supposing our countrymen had not received this 
 Writing, till of late! Shall we oppose ourselves to the most 
 polished and civilised nations of Europe ? Shall we, with 
 the same singularity, oppose the World in this, as most of us 
 do in pronouncing Latin ? Or do we desire, that the brand 
 which BARCLAY has, I hope unjustly, laid upon the English, 
 should still continue? Angli suos ac sua omnia impense 
 mirantur; cceteras nationes despectui habent. All the Spanish and 
 Italian Tragedies I have yet seen, are writ in Rhyme. For 
 the French, I do not name them : because it is the fate of 
 our countrymen, to admit little of theirs among us, but the 
 basest of their men, the extravagancies of their fashions, and 
 the frippery of their merchandise. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE, who (with some errors, not to be avoided in 
 that Age) had, undoubtedly, a larger Soul of Poesy than ever 
 any of our nation, was the First, who (to shun the pains of 
 continual rhyming) invented that kind of writing which we 
 call Blank Verse [DRYDEN is here wrong as to fact, Lord 
 SURREY wrote the earliest printed English Blank Verse in his 
 Fourth Book of the ^Eneid, printed in 1548' ; but the French, 
 more properly Prose Mesuree : into which, the English Tongue 
 so naturally slides, that in writing Prose, 'tis hardly to be 
 avoided. And, therefore, I admire [marvel that] some men 
 should perpetually stumble in a way so easy : and, inverting 
 the order of their words, constantly close their lines with verbs. 
 Which, though commended, sometimes, in writing Latin ; yet, 
 we were whipt at Westminster, if we used it twice together. 
 
 I know some, who, if they were to write in Blank Verse 
 Sir, I ask your pardon ! would think it sounded more heroi- 
 cally to write ^ ^ yQw pard(m ^ , 
 
 I should judge him to have little command of English, 
 whom the necessity of a rhyme should force upon this rock ; 
 though, sometimes, it cannot be easily avoided. 
 
 And, indeed, this is the only inconvenience with which 
 Rhyme can be charged. This is that, which makes them 
 say, " Rhyme is not natural. It being only so, when the 
 Poet either makes a vicious choice of words; or places them, 
 for Rhyme's sake, so unnaturally, as no man would, in ordi-
 
 28 ADVANTAGES OF RHYME OVER BLANK VERSE. [ J 
 
 nary speaking." But when 'tis so judiciously ordered, that the 
 first word in the verse seems to beget the second ; and that, 
 the next; till that becomes the last word in the line, which, 
 in the negligence of Prose, would be so : it must, then, be 
 granted, Rhyme has all advantages of Prose, besides its own. 
 
 But the excellence and dignity of it, were never fully known, 
 till Mr. WALLER taught it. He, first, made writing easily, 
 an Art : first, showed us to conclude the Sense, most com- 
 monly in distiches ; which in the Verse of those before him, 
 runs on for so many lines together, that the reader is out of 
 breath, to overtake it. 
 
 This sweetness of Mr. WALLER'S Lyric Poesy was, after- 
 wards, followed in the Epic, by Sir JOHN DENHAM, in his 
 Cooper's Hill ; a Poem which, your Lordship knows ! for the 
 majesty of the style, is, and ever will be the Exact Standard 
 of Good Writing. 
 
 But if we owe the invention of it to Mr. WALLER ; we are 
 acknowledging for the noblest use of it, to Sir WILLIAM 
 D'AVENANT ; who, at once, brought it upon the Stage, and 
 made it perfect in The Siege of Rhodes. 
 
 The advantages which Rhyme has over Blank Verse, are 
 so many that it were lost time to name them. 
 
 Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, in his Defence of Poesy, gives us one, 
 which, in my opinion, is not the least considerable : I mean, 
 the Help it brings to Memory ; which Rhyme so knits up by the 
 Affinity of Sounds, that by remembering the last word in one 
 line, we often call to mind both the verses. 
 
 Then, in the Quickness of Repartees, which in Discoursive 
 Scenes fall very often : it has so particular a grace, and is so 
 aptly suited to them, that the Sudden Smartness of the Answer, 
 and the Sweetness of the Rhyme set off the beauty of each other. 
 
 But that benefit, which I consider most in it, because I 
 have not seldom found it, is that it Bounds and Circum- 
 scribes the Fancy. For Imagination in a Poet, is a faculty 
 so wild and lawless, that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must 
 have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the Judgement. The great 
 easiness of Blank Verse renders the Poet too luxuriant. He 
 is tempted to say many things, which might better be omitted, 
 or, at least, shut up in fewer words. 
 
 But when the difficulty of artful Rhyming is interposed,
 
 ] RHYME BEST IN ARGUMENTATIVE SCENES. 29 
 
 where the Poet commonly confines his Sense to his Couplet ; 
 and must contrive that Sense into such words that the 
 Rhyme shall naturally follow them, not they the Rhyme [pp. 
 571 581] : the Fancy then gives leisure to the Judgement to 
 come in ; which, seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to 
 cut off all unnecessary expenses. 
 
 This last consideration has already answered an objection, 
 which some have made, that " Rhyme is only an Em- 
 broidery of Sense ; to make that which is ordinary in itself, 
 pass for excellent with less examination." But, certainly, 
 that which most regulates the Fancy, and gives the Judge- 
 ment its busiest employment, is like fly] to bring forth the 
 richest and clearest thoughts. The Poet examines that 
 most which he produceth with the greatest leisure, and 
 which, he knows, must pass the severest test of the audience, 
 because they are aptest to have it ever in their memory: 
 as the stomach makes the best concoction when it strictly 
 embraces the nourishment, and takes account of every little 
 particle as it passes through. 
 
 But, as the best medicines may lose their virtue, by being ill 
 applied ; so is it withVerse, if a fit Subject be not chosen for 
 it. Neither must the Argument alone, but the Characters 
 and Persons be great and noble : otherwise, as SCALIGER 
 says of CLAUDIAN, the Poet will be Ignobiliore materia 
 depressus. The Scenes which (in my opinion) most com- 
 mend it, are those of Argumentation and Discourse, on the 
 result of which, the doing or not doing [of] some considerable 
 Action should depend. 
 
 But, my Lord ! though I have more to say upon this sub- 
 ject ; yet, I must remember, 'tis your Lordship, to whom I 
 speak : who have much better commended this Way by your 
 writing in it ; than I can do, by writing for it. Where my 
 Reasons cannot prevail, I am sure your Lordship's Example 
 must. Your Rhetoric has gained my cause; as least, the 
 greatest part of my design has already succeeded to my wish : 
 which was, to interest so noble a Person in the Quarrel ; 
 and withal, to testify to the World, how happy I esteem 
 myself in the honour of being, My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most humble, and most obedient servant, 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN,
 
 The Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD, 
 Auditor of the Exchequer. 
 
 Preface to Four new Plays. 
 
 [Licensed 7 March 1665, Printed the same year.] 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 [HERE is none more sensible than I am, how great 
 a charity the most Ingenious may need, that expose 
 their private wit to a public judgement : since the 
 same Phancy from whence the thoughts proceed, 
 must probably be kind to its own issue. This 
 renders men no perfecter judges of their own writings, than 
 fathers are of their own children : who find out that wit in 
 them, which another discerns not ; and see not those errors, 
 which are evident to the unconcerned. Nor is this Self Kind- 
 ness more fatal to men in their writings, than in their actions ; 
 every man being a greater flatterer to himself, than he knows 
 how to be to another : otherwise, it were impossible that 
 things of such distant natures, should find their own authors 
 so equally kind in their affections to them ; and men so 
 different in parts and virtues, should rest equally contented in 
 their own opinions. 
 
 This apprehension, added to that greater [one] which I 
 have of my own weakness, may, I hope, incline the Reader 
 to believe me, when I assure him that these follies were made 
 public, as much against my inclination as judgement. But, 
 being pursued with so many solicitations of Mr. HERRING- 
 MAN'S [the Publisher], and having received civilities from him, 
 if it were possible, exceeding his importunities : I, at last, 
 yielded to prefer that which he believed his interest ; be- 
 fore that, which I apprehended my own disadvantage. Con- 
 sidering withal, that he might pretend, It would be a real 
 loss to him : and could be but an imaginary prejudice to me : 
 since things of this nature, though never so excellent, or 
 never so mean, have seldom proved the foundation of men's
 
 si 
 
 M" ow i66s'.]O LD PLAYS WERE BY SPEECHES & CHORUSES. 3 1 
 
 new built fortunes, or the ruin of their old. It being the fate 
 of Poetry, though of no other good parts, to be wholly sepa- 
 rated from Interest : and there are few that know me but 
 will easily believe, I am not much concerned in an unprofitable 
 Reputation. 
 
 This clear account I have given the Reader, of this seeming 
 contradiction, to offer that to the World which I dislike my- 
 self : and, in all things, I have no greater an ambition than 
 to be believed [to be] a Person, that would rather be unkind 
 to myself, than ungrateful to others. 
 
 I have made this excuse for myself. I offer none for my 
 writings ; but freely leave the Reader to condemn that which 
 has received my sentence already. 
 
 Yet, I shall presume to say something in the justification 
 of our nation's Plays, though not of my own : since, in my 
 judgement, without being partial to my country, I do really 
 prefer our Plays as much before any other nation's ; as I do the 
 best of ours before my own. 
 
 The manner of the Stage Entertainments has differed in 
 all Ages ; and, as it has increased in use, it has enlarged itself 
 in business. The general manner of Plays among the 
 Ancients we find in SENECA'S Tragedies, for serious subjects ; 
 and in TERENCE and PLAUTUS, for the comical. In which 
 latter, we see some pretences to Plots ; though certainly short 
 of what we have seen in some of Mr. [BEN.] JOHNSON'S Plays. 
 And for their Wit, especially PLAUTUS, I suppose it suited 
 much better in those days, than it would do in ours. For 
 were their Plays strictly translated, and presented on our 
 Stage ; they would hardly bring as many audiences as they 
 have now admirers. 
 
 The serious Plays were anciently composed of Speeches 
 and Choruses ; where all things are Related, but no matter of 
 fact Presented on the Stage. This pattern, the French do, 
 at this time, nearly follow : only leaving out the Chorus, 
 making up their Plays with almost Entire and Discoursive 
 Scenes ; presenting the business in Relations [p. 535]. This 
 way has very much affected some of our nation, who possibly 
 believe well of it, more upon the account that what the French 
 do ought to be a fashion, than upon the reason of the thing.
 
 32 THE FRENCH FOLLOW THIS ANCIENT PLAN.[ SI J 
 
 It is first necessary to consider, Why, probably, the com- 
 positions of the Ancients, especially in their serious Plays 
 were after this manner ? And it will be found, that the subjects 
 they commonly chose, drave them upon the necessity ; which 
 were usually the most known stories and Fables [p. 522]. 
 Accordingly, SENECA, making choice of MEDEA, HYPPOLITUS, 
 and HERCULES CEtaus, it was impossible to show MEDEA 
 throwing old mangled JSON into her age-renewing caldron, 
 or to present the scattered limbs of HYPPOLITUS upon the 
 Stage, and show HERCULES burning upon his own funeral 
 pile. 
 
 And this, the judicious HORACE clearly speaks of, in his 
 Arte Poetica ; where he says 
 
 Non tamen intus 
 
 Digna geri, promes in scenam : multaque tolles 
 Ex oculis, qua mox narret facundia prcesens. 
 Nee pueros cor am populo MEDEA trucidet \j. 537.1 
 
 Aut humana palam coquat extra nefarius ATREUS, 
 Aut in avem PROGNE vertatur, CADMUS in anguem. 
 Quodcunque ostendit mihi sic, incredulus odi. 
 
 So that it appears a fault to chose such Subjects for the 
 Stage; but much greater, to affect that Method which those 
 subjects enforce : and therefore the French seem much mis- 
 taken, who, without the necessity, sometimes commit the 
 error. And this is as plainly decided by the same author, in 
 his preceding words 
 
 A ut agitur res in Scenis aut acta refertur : 
 Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem ; 
 Quam qua sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et qua 
 Ipse sibi tradit spectator. 
 
 By which, he directly declares his judgement, " That every 
 thing makes more impression Presented, than Related." Nor, 
 indeed, can any one rationally assert the contrary. For, if 
 they affirm otherwise, they do, by consequence, maintain, That 
 a whole Play might as well be Related, as Acted
 
 Si ? ^S^eet] OUR TRAGI-COMEDIES DISAPPROVED OF. 33 
 
 Therefore whoever chooses a subject, that enforces him to 
 R E L A T i o N s, is to blame ; and he that does it without the 
 necessity of the subject, is much more. 
 
 If these premisses be granted, 'tis no partiality to con- 
 clude, That our English Plays justly challenge the pre- 
 eminence. 
 
 Yet, I shall as candidly acknowledge, that our best Poets 
 have differed from other nations, though not so happily 
 \J~elicitously\, in usually mingling and interweaving Mirth 
 and Sadness, through the whole course of their Plays. BEN. 
 JOHNSON only excepted ; who keeps himself entire to one 
 Argument. And I confess I am now convinced in my own 
 judgement, that it is most proper to keep the audience in one 
 entire disposition both of Concern and Attention : for when 
 Scenes of so different natures, immediately succeed one 
 another; 'tis probable, the audience may not so suddenly 
 recollect themselves, as to start into an enjoyment of Mirth, 
 or into the concern for the Sadness. Yet I dispute not but the 
 variety of this world may afford pursuing accidents of such 
 different natures ; but yet, though possible in themselves to 
 be, they may not be so proper to be Presented. An Entire 
 Connection being the natural beauty of all Plays : and 
 Language, the Ornament to dress them in ; which, in serious 
 Subjects, ought to be great and easy, like a high born Person 
 that expresses greatness without pride or affection. 
 
 The easier dictates of Nature ought to flow in Comedy; 
 yet separated from obsceneness. There being nothing more 
 impudent than the immodesty of words. Wit should be 
 chaste ; and those that have it, can only write well 
 
 Si modo 
 Scimus in urbanum Lepido se ponere dicto. 
 
 Another way of the Ancients, which the French follow, and 
 our Stage has, now lately, practised ; is to write in Rhyme. 
 And this is the dispute betwixt many ingenious persons, 
 Whether Verse in Rhyme; or Verse without the Sound, which 
 may be called Blank Verse (though a hard expression) is to b& 
 preferred ? 
 
 But take the question, largely, and it is never to be decided 
 
 C 7
 
 34 WRITE POEMS IN RHYME, PLAYS IN PROSED 
 
 [p. 512] ; but, by right application, I suppose it may. For, in 
 the general, they are both proper : that is, one for a Play; the 
 other for a Poem or Copy of Verses : as Blank Verse being 
 as much too low for one [i.e., a Poem or Verses] ; as Rhyme is 
 unnatural for the other [i.e., a Play}. 
 
 A Poem, being a premeditated Form of thoughts, upon 
 designed occasions: ought not to be unfurnished of any 
 Harmony in Words or Sound. The other [a Play] is pre- 
 sented as the present effect of accidents not thought of. So 
 that, 'tis impossible, it should be equally proper to both 
 these ; unless it were possible that all persons were born so 
 much more than Poets, that verses were not to be composed 
 by them, but already made in them. 
 
 Some may object "That this argument is trivial; because, 
 whatever is showed, 'tis known still to be but a Play." But 
 such may as well excuse an ill scene, that is not naturally 
 painted; because they know 'tis only a scene, and not really 
 a city or country. 
 
 But there is yet another thing which makes Verse upon the 
 Stage appear more unnatural, that is, when a piece of a verse 
 is made up by one that knew not what the other meant to say ; 
 and the former verse answered as perfectly in Sound as the 
 last is supplied in Measure. So that the smartness of a 
 Reply, which has its beauty by coming from sudden thoughts, 
 seems lost by that which rather looks like a Design of two, 
 than the Answer of one. 
 
 It may be said, that " Rhyme is such a confinement to a 
 quick and luxuriant Phancy, that it gives a stop to its speed, 
 till slow Judgement comes in to assist it [^.492];" but this is 
 no argument for the question in hand. For the dispute is not 
 which way a man may write best in ; but which is most 
 proper for the subject he writes upon. And if this were let 
 pass, the argument is yet unsolved in itself; for he that 
 wants Judgement in the liberty of his Phancy, may as well 
 shew the defect of it in its confinement : and, to say truth, 
 he that has judgement will avoid the errors, and he that wants 
 it, will commit them both. 
 
 It may be objected, " 'Tis improbable that any should 
 speak ex tempore, as well as BEAUMONT and FLETCHER makes 
 them ; though in Blank Verse." I do not only acknowledge
 
 ^:] THE ITALIANS EXCEL IN THEIR OPERAS. 35 
 
 that, but that 'tis also improbable any will write so well that 
 way. But if that may be allowed improbable ; I believe it 
 may be concluded impossible that any should speak as good 
 Verses in Rhyme, as the best Poets have writ : and therefore, 
 that which seems nearest to what he intends is ever to be 
 preferred. 
 
 Nor are great thoughts more adorned by Verse; than 
 Verse unbeautified by mean ones. So that Verse seems 
 not only unfit in the best use of it, but much more in the 
 worst, when " a servant is called," or " a door bid to be shut " 
 in Rhyme [p. 569]. Verses, I mean good ones, do, in their 
 height of Phancy, declare the labour that brought them 
 forth ! like Majesty that grows with care : and Nature, that 
 made the Poet capable, seems to retire, and leave its offers to 
 be made perfect by pains and judgement. 
 
 Against this, I can raise no argument, but my Lord of 
 ORRERY'S writings. In whose Verse, the greatness of the 
 Majesty seems unsullied with the cares, and his inimitable 
 Phancy descends to us in such easy expressions, that they 
 seem as if neither had ever been added to the other : but 
 both together flowing from a height ; like birds got so high 
 that use no labouring wings, but only, with an easy care, 
 preserve a steadiness in motion. But this particular hap- 
 piness, among those multitudes which that excellent Person 
 is owner of, does not convince my reason, but employ my 
 wonder. Yet, I am glad such Verse has been written for our 
 Stage ; since it has so happily exceeded those whom we 
 seemed to imitate. 
 
 But while I give these arguments against Verse, I may 
 seem faulty, that I have not only writ ill ones, but writ any. 
 But since it was the fashion ; I was resolved, as in all in- 
 different things, not to appear singular : the danger of the 
 vanity being greater than the error. And therefore, I fol- 
 lowed it as a fashion ; though very far off. 
 
 For the Italian plays ; I have seen some of them, which 
 have been given me as the best : but they are so inconsider- 
 able that the particulars of them are not at all worthy to 
 entertain the Reader. But, as much as they are short of 
 others, in this ; they exceed in their other performances on 
 the Stage. I mean their Operas : which, consisting of 
 Music and Painting; there's none but will believe it as
 
 36 A PLAY is MORE ARTISTIC THAN A 
 
 much harder to equal them in that way, than 'tis to excel 
 them in the other. 
 
 The Spanish Plays pretend to more ; but, indeed, are not 
 much : being nothing but so many novels put into Acts and 
 scenes, without the least attempt or design of making the 
 Reader more concerned than a well-told tale might do. 
 Whereas, a Poet that endeavours not to heighten the acci- 
 dents which Fortune seems to scatter in a well-knit Design, 
 had better have told his tale by a fireside, than presented it 
 on a Stage. 
 
 For these times, wherein we write. I admire to hear the 
 Poets so often cry out upon, and wittily (as they believe) 
 threaten their judges ; since the effects of their mercy has so 
 much exceeded their justice, that others with me, cannot but 
 remember how many favourable audiences, some of our ill 
 plays have had : and, when I consider how severe the former 
 Age has been to some of the best of Mr. JOHNSON'S never to 
 be equalled Comedies ; I cannot but wonder why any Poet 
 should speak of former Times, but rather acknowledge that 
 the want of abilities in this Age are largely supplied with the 
 mercies of it. 
 
 I deny not, but there are some who resolve to like nothing, 
 and such, perhaps, are not unwise; since, by that general 
 resolution, they may be certainly in the right sometimes : 
 which, perhaps, they would seldom be, if they should venture 
 their understandings in different censures ; and, being forced 
 to a general liking or disliking (lest they should discover too 
 much their own weakness), 'tis to be expected they would 
 rather choose to pretend to Judgement than Good Nature, 
 though I wish they could find better ways to shew either. 
 
 But I forget myself; not considering that while I entertain 
 the Reader, in the entrance, with what a good play should 
 be : when he is come beyond the entrance, he must be treated 
 with what ill plays are. But in this, I resemble the greatest 
 part of the World, that better know how to talk of many things, 
 than to perform them ; and live short of their own discourses. 
 
 And now, I seem like an eager hunter, that has long pur- 
 sued a chase after an inconsiderable quarry ; and gives over, 
 weary : as I do.
 
 OF 
 
 Dramatic Poesy, 
 
 AN 
 
 ESSAY. 
 
 By JOHN DRYDEN Esq.; 
 
 Fungar vice cotis^ acutum 
 Redder e qu&ferrum valet , exors ipsa secandt. 
 
 Herat. De Arte Poet. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed for Henry Herringman, at the sign of the 
 Anchor^ on the Lower-walk of the New- 
 Exchange. 1668.
 
 39 
 
 To the Right Honourable 
 CHARLES LORD BUCKHURST. 
 
 Y LORD, 
 
 |5 / WAS lately reviewing my loose papers, amongst the 
 rest I found this Essay, the writing of which, in this 
 rude and indigested manner wherein your Lordship 
 now sees it, served as an amusement to me in 
 the country [in 1665], when the violence of the last 
 Plague had driven me from the town. Seeing, then, our theatres 
 shut up ; I was engaged in these kind[s] of thoughts with the same 
 delight with which men think upon their absent mistresses. 
 
 I confess I find many things in this Discourse, which I do not now 
 approve ; my judgement being a little altered since the writing of it : 
 but whether for the better or worse, I know not. Neither indeed is it 
 much material in an Essay, where all I have said is problematical. 
 For the way of writing Plays in Verse, which I have seemed to 
 favour[p. 561] ; / have, since that time, laid the practice of it aside till 
 I have more leisure, because I find it troublesome and slow. But I 
 am no way altered from my opinion of it, at least, with any reasons 
 which have opposed it. For your Lordship may easily observe that 
 none are very violent against it; but those who either have not 
 attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in their attempt. 'Tis enough 
 for me, to have your Lordship's example for my excuse in that 
 little which I have done in it : and I am sure my adversaries can 
 bring no such arguments against Verse, as the Fourth Act of 
 POMPEY will furnish me with in its defence. 
 
 Yet, my Lord! you must suffer me a little to complain of you ! 
 that you too soon withdraw from us a contentment, of which we 
 expected the continuance, because you gave it us so early. 'Tis a 
 revolt without occasion from your Party ! where your merits 
 had already raised you to the highest commands : and where you 
 have not the excuse of other men that you have been ill used 
 and therefore laid down arms. I know no other quarrel you can 
 have to Verse, than that which S PURINA had to his beauty ; when 
 he tore and mangled the features of his face, only because they 
 pleased too well the lookers on. It was an honour which seemed to 
 wait for you, to lead out a New Colony of Writers from the Mother 
 Nation ; and, upon the first spreading of your ensigns, there had
 
 40 
 
 ADDRESS TO LORD BUCKHURST. [ J - 
 
 been many in a readiness to have followed so fortunate a Leader ; 
 if not all, yet the better part of writers. 
 
 Pars, indocili melior grege, mollis et expes 
 Inominata perprimat cubilia. 
 
 I am almost of opinion that we should force you to accept of the 
 command ; as sometimes the Prcetorian Bands have compelled their 
 Captains to receive the Empire. The Court, which is the best and 
 surest judge of writing, has generally allowed of Verse ; and in the 
 Town, it has found favourers of Wit and Quality. 
 
 As for your own particular, my Lord! you have yet youth 
 and time enough to give part of it to the Divertisement of the 
 of the Public, before you enter into the serious and more unpleasant 
 Business of the World. 
 
 That which the French Poet said of the Temple of Love, may be 
 as well applied to the Temple of Muses. The words, as near[ly] 
 as I can remember them, were these 
 
 La jeunesse a mauvaise grace 
 
 N 'ay ant pas ador6 dans le Temple d* Amour; 
 
 II faut qu'il entre : et pour le sage ; 
 
 Si ce n'est son vrai sejour, 
 
 Ce'st un gite sur son passage. 
 
 / leave the words to work their effect upon your Lordship, in 
 their own language; because no other can so well express the 
 nobleness of the thought : and wish you may be soon called to bear 
 a part in the affaires of the Nation, where I know the World ex- 
 pects you, and wonders why you have been so long forgotten ; there 
 being no person amongst our young nobility, on whom the eyes of 
 all men are so much bent. But, in the meantime, your Lordship 
 may imitate the Course of Nature, which gives us the flower before 
 the fruit ; that I may speak to you in the language of the Muses, 
 which I have taken from an excellent Poem to the King [i.e., 
 CHARLES II.] 
 
 As Nature, when she fruit designs, thinks fit 
 By beauteous blossoms to proceed to it, 
 A nd while she does accomplish all the Spring, 
 Birds, to her secret operations sing. 
 
 I confess I have no greater reason in addressing this Essay to 
 your Lordship, than that it might awaken in you the desire oj 
 writing something, in whatever kind it be, which might be an
 
 J ' Dry ^ n 7 '.] ADDRESS TO LORD BUCKHURST. 41 
 
 honour to our Age and country. And, methinks, it might have 
 the same effect upon you, which, HOMER tells us, the fight of the 
 Greeks and Trojans before the fleet had on the spirit o/AcHILLES ; 
 who, though he had resolved not to engage, yet found a martial 
 warmth to steal upon him at the sight of blows, the sound of 
 trumpets, and the cries of fighting men. 
 
 For my own part, if in treating of this subject, I sometimes 
 dissent from the opinion of better Wits, I declare it is not so much to 
 combat their opinions as to defend mine own, which were first made 
 public. Sometimes, like a scholar in a fencing school, I put forth 
 myself, and show my own ill play, on purpose to be better taught. 
 Sometimes, I stand desperately to my arms, like the Foot, when 
 deserted by their Horse ; not in hope to overcome, but only to yield 
 on more honourable terms. 
 
 And yet, my Lord ! this War of Opinions, you well know, has 
 fallen out among the Writers of all Ages, and sometimes betwixt 
 friends : only it has been persecuted by some, like pedants, with 
 violence of words ; and managed, by others, like gentlemen, with 
 candour and civility. Even TuLLY had a controversy with his 
 dear ATTICUS; and in one of his Dialogues, makes him sustain 
 the part of an enemy in Philosophy, who, in his Letters, is his con- 
 fident of State, and made privy to the most weighty affairs of the 
 Roman Senate : and the same respect, which was paid by TuLLY 
 to A TTICUS ; we find returned to him, afterwards, by CMSAR, on 
 a like occasion : who, answering his book in praise of CATO, made 
 it not so much his business to condemn CATO, as to praise ClCERO. 
 
 But that I may decline some part of the encounter with my 
 adversaries, whom I am neither willing to combat, nor well able 
 to resist; I will give your Lordship the relation of a dispute be- 
 twixt some of our wits upon this subject : in which, they did not 
 only speak of Plays in Verse, but mingled, in the freedom of 
 discourse, some things of the Ancient, many of the Modern Ways 
 of Writing ; comparing those with these, and the Wits of our 
 Nation with those of others. 'Tis true, they differed in their opinions, 
 as 'tis probable they would ; neither do I take upon me to reconcile, 
 but to relate them, and that, as TACITUS professes of himself, 
 sine studio partium aut ira, "without passion or interest" : 
 leaving your Lordship to decide it in favour of which part, you shall 
 judge most reasonable! And withal, to pardon the many errors of 
 Your Lordship's most obedient humble servant, 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN.
 
 ^H^HMJK^-^^ 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 \HE drift of the ensuing Discourse was 
 chiefly to vindicate the honour of our English 
 Writers from the censure of those who 
 unjustly prefer the French before them. This I intimate, 
 lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to teach 
 others an Art which they understand much better than 
 myself. But if this incorrect Essay, written in the 
 country, without the help of books or advice of friends, 
 shall find any acceptance in the World: I promise to 
 myself a better success of the Second Part, wherein the 
 virtues and faults of the English Poets who have 
 written, either in this, the Epic, or the Lyric way, will 
 be more fully treated of; and their several styles impar- 
 tially imitated. 
 
 ^ 
 
 H^ 
 
 WWWWWWW
 
 43 
 
 AN ESSAY 
 
 OF 
 
 Dramatic Poesy. 
 
 |T WAS that memorable day [$rd of June 1665] in 
 the first summer of the late war, when our Navy 
 engaged the Dutch ; a day, wherein the two most 
 mighty and best appointed Fleets which any Age 
 had ever seen, disputed the command of the 
 greater half of the Globe, the commerce of Nations, and the 
 riches of the Universe. While these vast floating bodies, on 
 either side, moved against each other in parallel lines ; and 
 our countrymen, under the happy conduct of His Royal 
 Highness [the Duke of YORK], went breaking by little and 
 little, into the line of the enemies : the noise of the cannon 
 from both navies reached our ears about the City ; so that all 
 men being alarmed with it, and in a dreadful suspense of the 
 event which we knew was then deciding, every one went fol- 
 lowing the sound as his fancy [imagination] led him. And leav- 
 ing the Town almost empty, some took towards the Park; 
 some cross the river, others dow& it : all seeking the noise in 
 the depth of silence. 
 
 Among the rest, it was the fortune of EUGENIUS, CRITES, 
 LISIDEIUS and NEANDER to be in company together: three 
 of them persons whom their Wit and Quality have made 
 known to all the Town j and whom I have chosen to hide
 
 44 A FAMOUSBOATLOADOFCRITICS. [ J> 
 
 under these borrowed names, that they may not suffer by so 
 ill a Relation as I am going to make, of their discourse. 
 
 Taking then, a barge, which a servant of LISIDEIUS had 
 provided for them, they made haste to shoot the Bridge [i.e., 
 London Bridge] : and [so] left behind them that great fall of 
 waters, which hindered them from hearing what they desired. 
 
 After which, having disengaged themselves from many 
 vessels which rode at anchor in the Thames, and almost 
 blocked up the passage towards Greenwich : they ordered the 
 watermen to let fall their oars more gently ; and then, every 
 one favouring his own curiosity with a strict silence, it was 
 not long ere they perceived the air break about them, like 
 the noise of distant thunder, or of swallows in a chimney. 
 Those little undulations of sound, though almost vanishing 
 before they reached them ; yet still seeming to retain some- 
 what of their first horror, which they had betwixt the fleets. 
 
 After they had attentively listened till such time, as the 
 sound, by little and little, went from them ; EUGENIUS [i.e., 
 Lord BUCKHURST] lifting up his head, and taking notice of 
 it, was the first to congratulate to the rest, that happy 
 Omen of our nation's victory: adding, "we had but this to 
 desire, in confirmation of it, that we might hear no more of 
 that noise, which was now leaving the English coast." 
 
 When the rest had concurred in the same opinion, 
 CRITES [i.e., Sir ROBERT HOWARD] (a person of a sharp 
 judgment, and somewhat a too delicate a taste in wit, which 
 the World have mistaken in him for ill nature) said, smiling, 
 to us, " That if the concernment of this battle had not been 
 so exceedingly] great, he could scarce have wished the victory 
 at the price, he knew, must pay for it; in being subject to the 
 reading and hearing of so many ill verses, he was sure would 
 be made upon it." Adding, " That no argument could 'scape 
 some of those eternal rhymers, who watch a battle with more 
 diligence than the ravens and birds of prey ; and the worst 
 of them surest to be first in upon the quarry : while the better 
 able, either, out of modesty, writ not at all ; or set that due 
 value upon their poems, as to let them be often called for, 
 and long expected." 
 
 " There are some of those impertinent people you speak 
 of," answered LISIDEIUS [i.e.,Sir CHARLES SEDLEY], "who, 
 to my knowledge, are already so provided, either way, that
 
 D .>5-7.'] DRYDEN'S ATTACK ON GEORGE WITHER. 45 
 
 they can produce not only a Panegyric upon the Victory : but, 
 if need be, a Funeral Elegy upon the Duke, and, after they 
 have crowned his valour with many laurels, at last, deplore 
 the odds under which he fell ; concluding that his courage 
 deserved a better destiny." All the company smiled at the 
 conceipt of LISIDEIUS. 
 
 But CRITES, more eager than before, began to make par- 
 ticular exceptions against some writers, and said, "The 
 Public Magistrate ought to send, betimes, to forbid them : and 
 that it concerned the peace and quiet of all honest people, that 
 ill poets should be as well silenced as seditious preachers." 
 
 " In my opinion " replied EUGENIUS, "you pursue your point 
 too far ! For, as to my own particular, I am so great a lover 
 of Poesy, that I could wish them all rewarded, who attempt 
 but to do well. At least, I would not have them worse used 
 than SYLLA the Dictator did one of their brethren heretofore. 
 Quern in condone vidimus (says TULLY, speaking of him) cum 
 ei libellum malus poeta de populo subjecisset, quod epigramma in 
 eum fecisset tantummodo alternis versibus longiuculis, statim ex Us 
 rebus qua tune vendebat jubere eiprcemium tribui, sub ea conditione 
 ne quid posted scriberet" 
 
 " I could wish, with all my heart," replied CRITES, "that 
 many whom we know, were as bountifully thanked, upon the 
 same condition, that they would never trouble us again. 
 For amongst others, I have a mortal apprehension of two 
 poets, whom this Victory, with the help of both her wings, 
 will never be able to escape." 
 
 "'Tis easy to guess, whom you intend," said LISIDEIUS, 
 " and without naming them, I ask you if one [i.e., GEORGE 
 WITHER] of them does not perpetually pay us with clenches 
 upon words, and a certain clownish kind of raillery ? If, now 
 and then, he does not offer at a catachresis [which COTGRAVE 
 defines as ' the abuse, or necessary use of one word, for lack of 
 another more proper '] or Clevelandism, wresting and torturing 
 a word into another meaning ? In fine, if be not one of those 
 whom the French would call un mauvais buffon ; one that is 
 so much a well wilier to the Satire, that he spares no man : and 
 though he cannot strike a blow to hurt any, yet ought to be 
 punished for the malice of the action ; as our witches are justly 
 hanged, because they think themselves so, and suffer deser- 
 vedly for believing they did mischief, because they meant it."
 
 46 HlS SECOND ATTACK, ON FRANCIS QuARLES. [ J< 
 
 "You have described him," said CRITES, "so exactly, that I 
 am afraid to come after you, with my other Extremity of 
 Poetry. He [i.e., FRANCIS QUARLES] is one of those, who, hav- 
 ing had some advantage of education and converse [i.e., conver- 
 sation, in the sense of Culture through mixture with society], knows 
 better than the other, what a Poet should be; but puts it into 
 practice more unluckily than any man. His style and matter 
 are everywhere alike. He is the most calm, peaceable writer 
 you ever read. He never disquiets your passions with the 
 least concernment ; but still leaves you in as even a temper 
 as he found you. He is a very Leveller in poetry ; he creeps 
 along, with ten little words in every line, and helps out his 
 numbers with For to, and Unto, and all the pretty expletives 
 he can find, till he drags them to the end of another line : 
 while the Sense is left, tired, halfway behind it. He doubly 
 starves all his verses; first, for want of Thought, and then, of 
 Expression. His poetry neither has wit in it, nor seems to have 
 it; like him, in MARTIAL, 
 
 Pauper videri CINNA vtilt, et est pauper. 
 
 He affects plainness, to cover his Want of Imagination. 
 When he writes in the serious way ; the highest flight of his 
 Fancy is some miserable antithesis or seeming contradiction : 
 and in the comic ; he is still reaching at some thin conceit, 
 the ghost of a jest, and that too flies before him, never to be 
 caught. These swallows, which we see before us on the 
 Thames, are the just resemblance of his Wit. You may ob- 
 serve how near the water they stoop ! how many proffers they 
 make to dip, and yet how seldom they touch it ! and when 
 they do, 'tis but the surface ! they skim over it, but to catch a 
 gnat, and then mount in the air and leave it 1 " 
 
 " Well, gentlemen !" said EUGENIUS, " you may speak 
 your pleasure of these authors ; but though I and some few 
 more about the Town, may give you a peaceable hearing : 
 yet, assure yourselves ! there are multitudes who would think 
 you malicious, and them injured ; especially him whom you 
 first described, he is the very Withers of the City. They have 
 bought more Editions of his works, than would serve to lay 
 under all their pies at the Lord Mayor's Christmas. When 
 his famous poem [i.e., Speculum Speculativium ; Or, A Con- 
 sidering Glass. Being an Inspection into the present and late
 
 ?.] THE BATTLE OF THE ANCIENTS & MODERNS. 47 
 
 sad condition of these Nations. . . . London. Written June xiii. 
 XDCLX, and there imprinted the same year] first came out in 
 the year 1660, I have seen them read it in the midst of 
 Change time. Nay, so vehement were they at it, that they 
 lost their bargain by the candles' ends ! But what will you 
 say, if he has been received among the Great Ones ? I can 
 assure you, he is, this day, the envy of a Great Person, who 
 is Lord in the Art of Quibbling ; and who does not take it 
 well, than any man should intrude so far into his province." 
 
 " All I would wish," replied CRITES, " is that they who love 
 his writings, may still admire him and his fellow poet.' Qui 
 Bavium non odit &c., is curse sufficient." 
 
 "And farther," added LISIDEIUS ; " I believe there is no 
 man who writes well ; but would think himself very hardly 
 dealt with, if their admirers should praise anything of his. 
 Nam quos contemnimus eorum quoque laudes contemnimus" 
 
 " There are so few who write well, in this Age," said 
 CRITES," that methinks any praises should be welcome. They 
 neither rise to the dignity of the last Age, nor to any of the 
 Ancients : and we may cry out of the Writers of this Time, with 
 more reason than PETRONIUS of his, Pace vestra liceat dixisse, 
 primi omnium eloquentiam perdidistis ! ' You have debauched 
 the true old Poetry so far, that Nature (which is the Soul of 
 it) is not in any of your writings ! ' " 
 
 " If your quarrel," said EUGENIUS, " to those who now 
 write, be grounded only upon your reverence to Antiquity ; 
 there is no man more ready to adore those great Greeks and 
 Romans than I am : but, on the other side, I cannot think so 
 contemptibly of the Age I live in, or so dishonourably of my 
 own Country as not to judge [that] we equal the Ancients in 
 most kinds of Poesy, and in some, surpass them ; neither 
 know I any reason why I may not be as zealous for the 
 reputation of our Age, as we find the Ancients themselves, 
 in reference to those who lived before them. For you hear 
 HORACE saying 
 
 Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasse 
 Compositum, illepide've putetur, sed quia nuper. 
 And, after, 
 
 Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit, 
 
 Scire velim pretium chartis quotus arroget anntts ?
 
 48 DRAMATIC POESY CHOSEN FOR DISCUSSION. [ J 
 
 But I see I am engaging in a wide dispute, where the argu- 
 ments are not likefly] to reach close, on either side [p. 497]: for 
 Poesy is of so large extent, and so many (both of the Ancients 
 and Moderns) have done well in all kinds of it, that, in 
 citing one against the other, we shall take up more time this 
 evening, than each man's occasions will allow him. There- 
 fore, I would ask CRITES to what part of Poesy, he would 
 confine his arguments? and whether he would defend the 
 general cause of the Ancients against the Moderns ; or oppose 
 any Age of the Moderns against this of ours ? 
 
 CRITES, a little while considering upon this demand, told 
 EUGENIUS, he approved of his propositions ; and, if he 
 pleased, he would limit their dispute to Dramatic Poesy : in 
 which, he thought it not difficult to prove, either that the 
 Ancients were superior to the Moderns ; or the last Age to 
 this of ours. 
 
 EUGENIUS was somewhat surprised, when he heard CRITES 
 make choice of that subject. " For ought I see," said he, "I 
 have undertaken a harder province than I imagined. For 
 though I never judged the plays of the Greek and Roman 
 poets comparable to ours : yet, on the other side, those we now 
 see acted, come short of many which were written in the last 
 Age. But my comfort is, if we were o'ercome, it will be only 
 by our own countrymen ; and if we yield to them in this one 
 part of Poesy, we [the] more surpass them in all the other[s]. 
 
 For in the Epic, or Lyric way, it will be hard for them to 
 shew us one such amongst them, as we have many now living, 
 or who lately were so. They can produce nothing so Courtly 
 writ, or which expresses so much the conversation of a 
 gentleman, as Sir JOHN SUCKLING ; nothing so even, 
 sweet, and flowing, as Mr. WALLER ; nothing so majestic, 
 so correct, as Sir JOHN DENHAM; nothing so elevated, so 
 copious, and full of spirit, as Mr. COWLEY. As for the 
 Italian, French, and Spanish plays, I can make it evident, 
 that those who now write, surpass them ; and that the Drama 
 is wholly ours." 
 
 All of them were thus far of EUGENIUS his opinion, that 
 " the sweetness of English Verse was never understood or 
 practised by our fathers " ; even CRITES himself did not much 
 oppose it : and every one was willing to acknowledge how 
 much our Poesy is improved by the happiness of some writers
 
 J< D i7eS:] LISIDEIUS A DEFINITION OF A PLAY. 49 
 
 yet living, who first taught us to mould our thoughts into 
 easy and significant words ; to retrench the superfluities of 
 expression; and to make our Rhyme so properly a part of the 
 Verse, that it should never mislead the Sense, but itself be 
 led and governed by it. 
 
 IUGENIUS was going to continue this discourse, when 
 LISIDEIUS told him, that " it was necessary, before 
 they proceeded further, to take a Standing Measure 
 of their controversy. For how was it possible to be 
 decided who writ the best plays, before we know what a Play 
 should be ? but this once agreed on by both parties, each 
 might have recourse to it ; either to prove his own advan- 
 tages, or discover the failings of his adversary." 
 
 He had no sooner said this ; but all desired the favour of 
 him to give the definition of a Play : and they were the 
 more importunate, because neither ARISTOTLE, nor HORACE, 
 nor any other who writ of that subject, had ever done it. 
 
 LISIDEIUS, after some modest denials, at last, confessed 
 he had a rude notion of it ; indeed, rather a Description than 
 a Definition ; but which served to guide him in his private 
 thoughts, when he was to make a judgment of what others 
 writ. That he conceived a Play ought to be A JUST AND 
 LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, REPRE- 
 SENTING ITS PASSIONS AND HUMOURS; AND THE 
 CHANGES OF FORTUNE, TO WHICH IT IS SUBJECT: 
 FOR THE DELIGHT AND INSTRUCTION OF 
 MANKIND. 
 
 This Definition, though CRITES raised a logical objection 
 against it (that " it was only a genere et fine" and so not 
 altogether perfect), was yet well received by the rest. 
 
 And, after they had given order to the watermen to turn their 
 barge, and row softly, that they might take the cool of the 
 evening in their return: CRITES, being desired by the company 
 to begin, spoke on behalf of the Ancients, in this manner. 
 
 JF CONFIDENCE presage a victory; EUGENIUS, in his 
 own opinion, has already triumphed over the 
 Ancients. Nothing seems more easy to him, than 
 to overcome those whom it is our greatest praise 
 
 to have imitated well : for we do not only build upon their 
 
 foundation, but by their models.
 
 y.ltn. 
 5-7. 
 
 50 CRITES OPENS THE FIRST ARGUMENT.[ J - 
 
 Dramatic Poesy had time enough, reckoning from THBSPIS 
 who first invented it, to ARISTOPHANES ; to be born, to grow 
 up, and to flourish in maturity. 
 
 It has been observed of Arts and Sciences, that in one and the 
 same century, they have arrived to a great perfection [p. 520]. And, 
 no wonder ! since every Age has a kind of Universal Genius, 
 which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies. 
 The work then being pushed on by many hands, must, of 
 necessity, go forward. 
 
 Is it not evident, in these last hundred years, when the 
 study of Philosophy has been the business of all the Virtuosi 
 in Christendom, that almost a new Nature has been re- 
 vealed to us ? that more errors of the School have been 
 detected, more useful experiments in Philosophy have been 
 made, more noble secrets in Optics, Medicine, Anatomy, 
 Astronomy, discovered ; than, in all those credulous and 
 doting Ages, from ARISTOTLE to us [p. 520] ? So true it is, 
 that nothing spreads more fast than Science, when rightly 
 and generally cultivated. 
 
 Add to this, the more than common Emulation that was, in 
 those times, of writing well : which, though it be found in all 
 Ages and all persons that pretend to the same reputation : 
 yet Poesy, being then in more esteem than now it is, had greater 
 honours decreed to the Professors of it, and consequently the rival- 
 ship was more high between them. They had Judges ordained 
 to decide their merit, and prizes to reward it : and historians 
 have been diligent to record of ^ESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, 
 SOPHOCLES, LYCOPHRON, and the rest of them, both who they 
 were that vanquished in these Wars of the Theatre, and how 
 often they were crowned : while the Asian Kings and Grecian 
 Commonwealths scarcely] afforded them a nobler subject 
 than the unmanly luxuries of a debauched Court, or giddy 
 intrigues of a factious city. Alii cemulatio ingenia, says 
 PATERCULUS, et nunc invidia, nunc admiratio incitationem 
 accendit: 'Emulation is the spur of wit; and sometimes 
 envy, sometimes admiration quickens our endeavours.' 
 
 But now, since the rewards of honour are taken away : 
 tliat Virtuous Emulation is turned into direct Malice ; yet 
 so slothful, that it contents itself to condemn and cry down
 
 J ' D i66 d 5 ":] CRITES WE NEGLECT TO LOOK ON NATURE. 5 1 
 
 others, without attempting to do better. Tis a reputation 
 too unprofitable, to take the necessary pains for it; yet 
 wishing they had it, is incitement enough to hinder others 
 from it. And this, in short, EUGENIUS, is the reason why 
 you have now so few good poets, and so many severe judges. 
 Certainly, to imitate the Ancients well, much labour and 
 long study is required : which pains, I have already shown, 
 our poets would want encouragement to take ; if yet they had 
 ability to go through with it. 
 
 Those Ancients have been faithful Imitators and wise 
 Observers of that Nature, which is so torn and ill-repre- 
 sented in our Plays. They have handed down to us a perfect 
 Resemblance of Her, which we, like ill copyers, neglecting to 
 look on, have rendered monstrous and disfigured. 
 
 But that you may know, how much you are indebted to 
 your Masters ! and be ashamed to have so ill-requited 
 them ! I must remember you, that all the Rules by which 
 we practise the Drama at this day (either such as relate to 
 the Justness and Symmetry of the Plot; or the episodical 
 ornaments, such as Descriptions, Narrations, and other 
 beauties which are not essential to the playj, were delivered 
 to us from the Observations that ARISTOTLE made of those 
 Poets, which either lived before him, or were his contem- 
 poraries. We have added nothing of our own, except we 
 have the confidence to say, ' Our wit is better ! ' which none 
 boast of in our Age, but such as understand not theirs. 
 Of that book, which ARISTOTLE has left us, Trept -nfc 
 noiTjTiKfjs ; HORACE his Art of Poetry is an excellent Com- 
 ment, and, I believe, restores to us, that Second Book of his 
 [i.e., ARISTOTLE] concerning Comedy, which is wanting in 
 him. 
 
 Out of these two [Authors], have been extracted the 
 Famous Rules, which the French call, Des trois Unites, 
 or 'The Three Unities,' which ought to be observed in 
 every regular Play ; namely, of TIME, PLACE, and 
 ACTION. 
 
 The UNITY OF TIME, they comprehend in Twenty- 
 four hours, the compass of a natural Day; or, as near it, as can 
 be contrived. And the reason of it is obvious to every one. 
 That the Time of the feigned Action or Fable of the Play
 
 52 CRITES THE UNITY OF TIME. [ 
 
 should be proportioned, as near as can be, to the duration of that 
 Time in which it is REPRESENTED. Since therefore all 
 plays are acted on the Theatre in a space of time much 
 within the compass of Twenty-four hours ; that Play is to be 
 thought the nearest Imitation of Nature, whose Plot or Action 
 is confined within that time. 
 
 And, by the same Rule which concludes this General 
 Proportion of Time, it follows, That all the parts of it are to 
 be equally subdivided. As, namely, that one Act take not up 
 the supposed time of Half a day, which is out of proportion 
 to the rest ; since the other four are then to be straitened 
 within the compass of the remaining half : for it is unnatural 
 that one Act which, being spoken or written, is not longer 
 than the rest ; should be supposed longer by the audience. 
 'Tis therefore the Poet's duty to take care that no Act should 
 be imagined to exceed the Time in which it is Represented on the 
 Stage ; and that the intervals and inequalities of time, be 
 be supposed to fall out between the Acts. 
 
 This Rule of T i M E , how well it has been observed by 
 the Ancients, most of their plays will witness. You see 
 them, in their Tragedies (wherein to follow this Rule is 
 certainly most difficult), from the very beginning of their 
 Plays, falling close into that part of the Story, which they 
 intend for the Action or principal Object of it : leaving the 
 former part to be delivered by Narration. So that they set 
 the audience, as it were, at the post where the race is to 
 be concluded : and, saving them the tedious expectation of 
 seeing the Poet set out and ride the beginning of the course; 
 you behold him not, till he is in sight of the goal, and just 
 upon you. 
 
 For the Second Unity, which is that of P L A c E ; the 
 Ancients meant by it, That the scene [locality] ought to be 
 continued, through the Play, in the same place, where it was laid 
 in the beginning. For the Stage, on which it is represented, 
 being but one, and the same place; it is unnatural to conceive 
 it many, and those far distant from one another. I will not 
 deny but by the Variation of Painted scenes [scenery was intro- 
 duced about this time into the English theatres, by Sir WILLIAM 
 D'AVENANT and BETTERTON the Actor: see Vol. II. p. 278] 
 the Fancy which, in these cases, will contribute to its own
 
 J ' D i66 d s ":] C R i T E s T HE UNITY OF PLACE. 53 
 
 deceit, may sometimes imagine it several places, upon some 
 appearance of probability : yet it still carries the greater 
 likelihood of truth, if those places be supposed so near each 
 other as in the same town or city, which may all be 
 comprehended under the larger denomination of One Place ; 
 for a greater distance will bear no proportion to the shortness 
 of time which is allotted in the acting, to pass from one of them 
 to another. 
 
 For the observation of this ; next to the Ancients, the 
 French are most to be commended. They tie themselves so 
 strictly to the Unity of Place, that you never see in any of 
 their plays, a scene [locality] changed in the middle of an 
 Act. If the Act begins in a garden, a street, or [a] chamber; 
 'tis ended in the same place. And that you may know it to 
 be the same, the Stage is so supplied with persons, that it is 
 never empty all the time. He that enters the second has 
 business with him, who was on before ; and before the second 
 quits the stage, a third appears, who has business with him. 
 This CORNEILLE calls La Liaison des Scenes, 'the Continuity 
 or Joining of the Scenes' : and it is a good mark of a well 
 contrived Play, when all the persons are known to each other, 
 and every one of them has some affairs with all the rest. 
 
 As for the third Unity, which is that of ACTION, the 
 Ancients meant no other by it, than what the Logicians do 
 by their Finis ; the End or Scope of any Action, that which 
 is the First in intention, and Last in execution. 
 
 Now the Poet is to aim at one great and complete Action ; 
 to the carrying on of which, all things in the Play, even the 
 very obstacles, are to be subservient. And the reason of this, 
 is as evident as any of the former. For two Actions, equally 
 laboured and driven on by the Writer, would destroy the 
 Unity of the Poem. It would be no longer one Play, but 
 two. Not but that there may be many actions in a Play (as 
 BEN. JOHNSON has observed in his Discoveries), but they 
 must be all subservient to the great one ; which our language 
 happily expresses, in the name of Under Plots. Such as, in 
 TERENCE'S Eunuch, is the deference and reconcilement of 
 THAIS and PHMDRIA ; which is not the chief business of 
 the Play, but promotes the marriage of CHCEREA and 
 CHREMES'S sister, principally intended by the Poet.
 
 54 
 
 CRITES THE UNITY OF ACTION. [ J - 
 
 There ought to be but one Action,' says CORNEILLE, 
 that is, one complete Action, which leaves the mind of the 
 audience in a full repose.' But this cannot be brought to pass, 
 but by many other imperfect ones, which conduce to it, and 
 hold the audience in a delightful suspense of what will be. 
 
 If by these Rules (to omit many others drawn from the 
 Precepts and Practice of the Ancients), we should judge our 
 modern plays, 'tis probable that few of them would endure 
 the trial. That which should be the business of a Day, 
 takes up, in some of them, an Age. Instead of One Action, 
 they are the Epitome of a man's life. And for one spot of 
 ground, which the Stage should represent ; we are sometimes 
 in more countries than the map can show us. 
 
 But if we will allow the Ancients to have contrived well ; 
 we must acknowledge them to have writ better. Question- 
 less, we are deprived of a great stock of wit, in the loss of 
 MENANDER among the Greek poets, and of CCECILIUS, 
 AFFRANIUS, and VARIUS among the Romans. We may 
 guess of MENANDER'S excellency by the Plays of TERENCE ; 
 who translated some of his, and yet wanted so much of him, 
 that he was called by C. C^SAR, the Half-MENANDER: and 
 of VARIUS, by the testimonies of HORACE, MARTIAL, and 
 VELLEIUS PATERCULUS. 'Tis probable that these, could 
 they be recovered, would decide the controversy. 
 
 But so long as ARISTOPHANES in the Old Comedy, and 
 PLAUTUS in the New are extant; while the Tragedies of 
 EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA are to be had : I can 
 never see one of those Plays which are now written, but it 
 increases my admiration of the Ancients. And yet I must 
 acknowledge further, that to admire them as we ought, we 
 should understand them better than we do. Doubtless, many 
 things appear flat to us, whose wit depended upon some custom 
 or story, which never came to our knowledge ; or perhaps upon 
 some criticism in their language, which, being so long dead, 
 and only remaining in their books, it is not possible they 
 should make us know it perfectly. 
 
 To read MACROBIUS explaining the propriety and elegancy 
 of many words in VIRGIL, which I had before passed over 
 without consideration as common things, is enough to assure 
 me that I ought to think the same of TERENCE ; and that, in
 
 * %S] C RITES THE PLAGIARIES OF FATHER BEN. 55 
 
 the purity of his style, which TULLY so much valued that he 
 ever carried his Works about him, there is yet left in him 
 great room for admiration, if I knew but where to place it. 
 
 In the meantime, I must desire you to take notice that the 
 greatest man of the last Age, BEN. JOHNSON, was willing to 
 give place to them in all things. He was not only a pro- 
 fessed imitator of HORACE, but a learned plagiary of all 
 the others. You track him everywhere in their snow. 
 If HORACE, LUCAN, PETRONIUS Arbiter, SENECA, and 
 JUVENAL had their own from him ; there are few serious 
 thoughts that are new in him. You will pardon me, there- 
 fore, if I presume, he loved their fashion ; when he wore 
 their clothes. 
 
 But since I have otherwise a great veneration for him , 
 and you, EUGENIUS! prefer him above all other poets : I will 
 use no farther argument to you than his example. I will 
 produce Father BEN. to you, dressed in all the ornaments 
 and colours of the Ancients. You will need no other guide 
 to our party, if you follow him : and whether you consider 
 the bad plays of our Age, or regard the good ones of the last : 
 both the best and worst of the Modern poets will equally 
 instruct you to esteem the Ancients." 
 
 CRITES had no sooner left speaking ; but EUGENIUS, who 
 waited with some impatience for it, thus began : 
 
 HAVE observed in your speech, that the former part 
 of it is convincing, as to what the Moderns have 
 profited by the Rules of the Ancients : but, in the 
 latter, you are careful to conceal, how much they 
 have excelled them. 
 
 We own all the helps we have from them ; and want 
 neither veneration nor gratitude, while we acknowledge that, 
 to overcome them, we must make use of all the advan- 
 tages we have received from them. But to these assistances, 
 we have joined our own industry : for had we sate down with 
 a dull imitation of them ; we might then have lost somewhat 
 of the old perfection, but never acquired any that was new. 
 We draw not, therefore, after their lines ; but those of 
 Nature : and having the Life before us, besides the ex- 
 perience of all they knew, it is no wonder if we hit some airs 
 and features, which they have missed.
 
 56 EUGENIUS NO SETTLED NUMBER OF ACTS. [ Jl *%$, 
 
 I deny not what you urge of Arts and Sciences [p. 514] ; 
 that they have flourished in some ages more than others: 
 but your instance in Philosophy [p. 514] makes for me. 
 
 For if Natural Causes be more known now, than in the 
 time of ARISTOTLE, because more studied ; it follows that 
 Poesy and other Arts may, with the same pains, arrive still 
 nearer to perfection. And that granted, it will rest for you 
 to prove, that they wrought more perfect Images of Human 
 Life than we. 
 
 Which, seeing, in your discourse, you have avoided to make 
 good ; it shall now be my task to show you some of their 
 Defects, and some few Excellencies of the Moderns. And I 
 think, there is none amongst us can imagine I do it 
 enviously ; or with purpose to detract from them : for what 
 interest of Fame, or Profit, can the Living lose by the repu- 
 tation of the Dead ? On the other side, it is a great truth, 
 which VELLEIUS PATERCULUS affirms, Audita visis libentius 
 laudatnus; et pr&sentia invidia, prceterita admirations prosequi- 
 mur, et his nos obrui, illis instrui credinws, ' That Praise or 
 Censure is certainly the most sincere, which unbribed 
 Posterity shall give us.' 
 
 Be pleased, then, in the first place, to take notice that the 
 Greek Poesy, which CRITES has affirmed to have arrived to 
 perfection in the reign of the Old Comedy [p. 514], was so far 
 from it, that the distinction of it into Acts was not known to 
 them ; or if it were, it is yet so darkly delivered to us, that we 
 cannot make it out. 
 
 All we know of it is, from the singing of their Chorus : and 
 that too, is so uncertain, that in some of their Plays, we have 
 reason to conjecture they sang more than five times. 
 
 ARISTOTLE, indeed, divides the integral parts of a Play 
 into four. 
 
 Firstly. The Protasis or Entrance, which gives light 
 only to the Characters of the persons ; and proceeds 
 very little into any part of the Action. 
 
 Secondly. The Epitasis or Working up of the Plot, 
 where the Play grows warmer ; the Design or Action of 
 it is drawing on, and you see something promising, that 
 it will come to pass. 
 
 Thirdly. The Catastasis or Counter-turn, which
 
 J *5fe] EUGENIUS ARISTOTLE'S IMAGE OF A PLAY. 57 
 
 destroys that expectation, embroils the action in new 
 difficulties, and leaves you far distant from that hope in 
 which it found you : as you may have observed in a 
 violent stream, resisted by a narrow passage ; it turns 
 round to an eddy, and carries back the waters with more 
 swiftness than it brought them on. 
 
 Lastly. The Catastrophe, which the Grecians call 
 8rt9 ; the French, Le denoument ; and we, the Discovery 
 or Unravelling of the Plot. There, you see all things 
 settling again upon the first foundations ; and the ob- 
 stacles, which hindered the Design or Action of the Play, 
 once removed, it ends with that Resemblance of Truth or 
 Nature, that the audience are satisfied with the conduct 
 of it. 
 
 Thus this great man delivered to us the Image of a Play ; 
 and I must confess it is so lively, that, from thence, much 
 light has been derived to the forming it more perfectly, into 
 Acts and Scenes. But what Poet first limited to Five, the 
 number of the Acts, I know not : only we see it so firmly 
 established in the time of HORACE, that he gives it for a rule 
 in Comedy. 
 
 Neu brevior quinto, neu sit productior actu: 
 
 So that you see, the Grecians cannot be said to have con- 
 sumated this Art : writing rather by Entrances than by Acts ; 
 and having rather a general indigested notion of a Play, 
 than knowing how and where to bestow the particular graces 
 of it. 
 
 But since the Spaniards, at this day, allow but three Acts, 
 which they call Jornadas, to a Play ; and the Italians, in many 
 of theirs, follow them : when I condemn the Ancients, I de- 
 clare it is not altogether because they have not five Acts to every 
 Play ; but because they have not confined themselves to one certain 
 number. 'Tis building a house, without a model : and when 
 they succeeded in such undertakings, they ought to have 
 sacrificed to Fortune, not to the Muses. 
 
 Next, for the Plot, which ARISTOTLE called TO pvOos, and 
 often TWV Trpajfjidrov trvvdecns ; and from him, the Romans^ 
 Fabula. It has already been judiciously observed by a late 
 Writer that ' in their T RAD G ED I E s,it was only some tale
 
 58 EUGENIUS STALENESS OF ANCIENTS' PLOTS. [ J 
 
 derived from Thebes or Troy; or, at least, something that 
 happened in those two Ages: which was worn so threadbare 
 by the pens of all the Epic Poets; and even, by tradition itself 
 of the talkative Greeklings, as BEN. JOHNSON calls them, 
 that before it came upon the Stage, it was already known to all 
 the audience. And the people, as soon as ever they heard the 
 name of (EDIPUS, knew as well as the Poet, that he had 
 killed his father by a mistake, and committed incest with his 
 mother, before the Play ; that they were now to hear of a 
 great plague, an oracle, and the ghost of LAIUS: so that they 
 sate, with a yawning kind of expectation, till he was to come, 
 with his eyes pulled out, and speak a hundred or two of verses, 
 in a tragic tone, in complaint of his misfortunes.' 
 
 But one (EDIPUS, HERCULES, or MEDEA had been toler- 
 able. Poor people ! They scaped not so good cheap. They 
 had still the chapon bouille set before them, till their appetites 
 were cloyed with the same dish ; and the Novelty being gone, 
 the Pleasure vanished. So that one main end of Dramatic 
 Poesy, in its definition [p. 513] (which was, to cause Delight) 
 was, of consequence, destroyed. 
 
 In their COMEDIES, the Romans generally borrowed 
 their Plots from the Greek poets : and theirs were commonly 
 a little girl stolen or wandered from her parents, brought back 
 unknown to the same city, there got with child by some lewd 
 young fellow, who (by the help of his servant) cheats his 
 father. And when her time comes to cry JUNO Lucina fer 
 opem ! one or other sees a little box or cabinet, which was 
 carried away with her, and so discovers her to her friends : 
 if some god do not prevent [anticipate] it, by coming down in 
 a machine [i.e., supernaturally] , and take the thanks of it to 
 himself. 
 
 By the Plot, you may guess much [many] of the characters 
 of the Persons. An old Father that would willingly, before 
 he dies, see his son well married. His debauched Son, kind 
 in his nature to his wench, but miserably in want of money. 
 A Servant or Slave, who has so much wit [as] to strike in with 
 him, and help to dupe his father, A braggadochio Captain, 
 a Parasite, and a Lady of Pleasure. 
 
 As for the poor honest maid, upon whom all the story is 
 built, and who ought to be one of the principal Actors in the 
 Play ; she is commonly a Mute in it. She has the breeding
 
 - ANCIENTS HAD NO UNITY OF PLACE. 59 
 
 of the old ELIZABETH [Elizabethan] way, for " maids to be 
 seen, and not to be heard" : and it is enough, you know she 
 is willing to be married, when the Fifth Act requires it. 
 
 These are plots built after the Italian mode of houses. 
 You see through them all at once. The Characters, indeed, 
 are Imitations of Nature : but so narrow as if they had imi- 
 tated only an eye or an hand, and did not dare to venture on 
 the lines of a face, or the proportion of a body. 
 
 But in how strait a compass sorever, they have bounded their 
 Plots and Characters, we will pass it by, if they have regu- 
 larly pursued them, and perfectly observed those three Unities, 
 of T i M E, PLACE, and ACTION; the knowledge of which, 
 you say ! is derived to us from them. 
 
 But, in the first place, give me leave to tell you ! that the 
 Unity of P L A c E, however it might be practised by them, 
 was never any of their Rules. We neither find it in 
 ARISTOTLE, HORACE, or any who have written "of it; till, in 
 our Age, the French poets first made it a Precept of the Stage. 
 
 The Unity of TIME, even TERENCE himself, who was 
 the best and most regular of them, has neglected. His 
 Heautontimoroumenos or "Self Punisher" takes up, visibly, 
 two days. " Therefore," says SCALIGER, " the two first Acts 
 concluding the first day, were acted overnight ; the last three 
 on the ensuing day." 
 
 And EURIPIDES, in tying himself to one day, has committed 
 an absurdity never to be forgiven him. For, in one of his 
 Tragedies, he has made THESEUS go from Athens to Thebes, 
 which was about forty English miles ; under the walls of it, 
 to give battle ; and appear victorious in the next Act : and yet, 
 from the time of his departure, to the return of the Nuntius, 
 who gives relation of his victory ; MTHRA and the Chorus 
 have but thirty-six verses, that is, not for every mile, a verse. 
 
 The like error is evident in TERENCE his Eunuch ; when 
 LACHES the old man, enters, in a mistake, the house of THAIS; 
 where, between his Exit and the Entrance of PYTHIAS (who 
 comes to give an ample relation of the garboils he has raised 
 within), PARMENO who was left upon the stage, has not 
 above five lines to speak. C'est bien employe, un temps si court ! 
 says the French poet, who furnished me with one of the[se] 
 observations.
 
 60 EUGENIUS ANCIENTS' NEGLECT OF TIME. [ J - 
 
 And almost all their Tragedies will afford us examples of 
 the like nature. 
 
 Tis true, they have kept the Continuity, or as you called 
 it, Liaison des Scenes, somewhat better. Two do not perpe- 
 tually come in together, talk, and go out together ; and other 
 two succeeded them, and do the same, throughout the Act : 
 which the English call by the name of " Single Scenes." But 
 the reason is, because they have seldom above two or three 
 Scenes, properly so called, in every Act. For it is to be ac- 
 counted a new Scene, not every time the Stage is empty : but 
 every person who enters, though to others, makes it so; 
 because he introduces a new business. 
 
 Now the Plots of their Plays being narrow, and the persons 
 few : one of their Acts was written in a less compass than 
 one of our well-wrought Scenes ; and yet they are often 
 deficient even in this. 
 
 To go no further than TERENCE. You find in the Eunuch, 
 ANTIPHO entering, single, in the midst of the Third Act, after 
 CHREMES and PYTHIAS were gone off. In the same play, 
 you have likewise DORIAS beginning the Fourth Act alone; 
 and after she has made a relation of what was done at the 
 soldier's entertainment (which, by the way, was very inarti- 
 ficial to do ; because she was presumed to speak directly to 
 the Audience, and to acquaint them with what was necessary 
 to be known : but yet should have been so contrived by the 
 Poet as to have been told by persons of the Drama to one 
 another, and so by them, to have come to the knowledge of 
 the people), she quits the Stage : and PHMDRIA enters next, 
 alone likewise. He also gives you an account of himself, and 
 of his returning from the country, in monologue : to which 
 unnatural way of Narration, TERENCE is subject in all his 
 Plays. 
 
 In his Adelphi or "Brothers," SYRUS and DEMEA enter 
 after the Scene was broken by the departure of SOSTRATA, 
 GETA, andCANTHARA: and, indeed, you can scarce look into 
 any of his Comedies, where you will not presently discover 
 the same interruption. 
 
 And as they have failed both in [the] laying of the Plots, and 
 managing of them, swerving from the Rules of their own Art, 
 by misrepresenting Nature to us, in which they have ill satis- 
 fied one intention of a Play, which was Delight : so in the
 
 J ' I SsS:] EUGENIUS BAD TENDENCY OF THEIR PLAYS. 61 
 
 Instructive part [pp. 513, 582-4], they have erred worse. In- 
 stead of punishing vice, and rewarding virtue ; they have 
 often shown a prosperous wickedness, and an unhappy piety. 
 They have set before us a bloody Image of Revenge, in 
 MEDEA; and given her dragons to convey her safe from 
 punishment. A PRIAM and ASTYANAX murdered, and 
 CASSANDRA ravished ; and Lust and Murder ending in the 
 victory of him that acted them. In short, there is no inde- 
 corum in any of our modern Plays; which, if I would excuse, I 
 could not shadow with some Authority from the Ancients. 
 
 And one farther note of them, let me leave you ! Tragedies 
 and Comedies were not writ then, as they are now, promis- 
 cuously, by the same person : but he who found his genius 
 bending to the one, never attempted the other way. This is 
 so plain, that I need not instance to you, that ARISTOPHANES, 
 PLAUTUS, TERENCE never, any of them, writ a Tragedy; 
 ^ESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA never 
 meddled with Comedy. The Sock and Buskin were not worn 
 by the same Poet. Having then so much care to excel in one 
 kind ; very little is to be pardoned them, if they miscarried in it. 
 
 And this would lead me to the consideration of their Wit, 
 had not CRITES given me sufficient warning, not to be too 
 bold in my judgement of it ; because (the languages being 
 dead, and many of the customs and little accidents on which 
 it depended lost to us [p. 518]) we are not competent judges of 
 it. But though I grant that, here and there, we may miss 
 the application of a proverb or a custom ; yet, a thing well 
 said, will be Wit in all languages : and, though it may lose 
 something in the translation ; yet, to him who reads it in 
 the original, 'tis still the same. He has an Idea of its ex- 
 cellency ; though it cannot pass from his mind into any 
 other expression or words than those in which he finds it. 
 
 When PHMDRIA, in the Eunuch, had a command from his 
 mistress to be absent two days ; and encouraging himself to 
 go through with it, said, Tandem ego non ilia caream, si opus 
 sit, vel totum triduum ? PARMENO, to mock the softness of 
 his master, lifting up his hands and eyes, cries out, as it were 
 in admiration, Hui ! universum triduum ! The elegancy of 
 which universum t though it cannot be rendered in our
 
 62 EUGENIUS CLEVELAND'S WAY OF ELOCUTION. [feJ^ 
 
 language ; yet leaves an impression of the Wit on our 
 souls. 
 
 But this happens seldom in him [i.e., TERENCE]', in PLAUTUS 
 oftner, who is infinitely too bold in his metaphors and coin- 
 ing words ; out of which, many times, his Wit is nothing. 
 Which, questionless, was one reason why HORACE falls upon 
 him so severely in those verses. 
 
 Sed Proavi nostri Plautinos et numeros et 
 Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrumque 
 Ne dicam stolide. 
 
 For HORACE himself was cautious to obtrude [in obtruding] 
 a new word upon his readers : and makes custom and com- 
 mon use, the best measure of receiving it into our writings. 
 
 Multa renascentur qua nunc cecidere, cadentque 
 Qua nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus 
 Quern penes, arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi. 
 
 The not observing of this Rule, is that which the World has 
 blamed in our satirist CLEVELAND. To express a thing hard 
 and unnaturally is his New Way of Elocution. Tis true, no 
 poet but may sometimes use a catachresis. VIRGIL does it, 
 
 Mistaque ridenti Colocasia Jundet Acantho 
 
 in his Eclogue of POLLIO. 
 And in his Seventh 
 
 Mirantur et unda, 
 
 Miratur nemus, insuetam fulgentia longe, 
 Scuta virum fluvio, pictaque innare carinas. 
 
 And OVID once ; so modestly, that he asks leave to do it. 
 
 Si verbo audacia detur 
 
 Haud metuam summi dixisse Palatia cctli. 
 
 calling the Court of JUPITER, by the name of AUGUSTUS his 
 palace. Though, in another place, he is more bold ; where 
 he says, Et longas visent Capitolia pampas.
 
 EUGENIUS WIT BEST, IN EASY LANGUAGE. 63 
 
 But to do this always, and never be able to write a line 
 without it, though it may be admired by some few pedants, 
 will not pass upon those who know that Wit is best conveyed 
 to us in the most easy language: and is most to be admired, when 
 a great thought comes dressed in words so commonly received, that 
 it is understood by the meanest apprehensions; as the best meat is 
 the most easily digested. But we cannot read a verse of 
 CLEVELAND'S, without making a face at it ; as if every word 
 were a pill to swallow. He gives us, many times, a hard nut 
 to break our teeth, without a kernel for our pains. So that 
 there is this difference between his Satires and Doctor 
 DONNE'S: that the one [DoNNE] gives us deep thoughts 
 in common language, though rough cadence; the other 
 [CLEVELAND] gives us common thoughts in abtruse words. 
 "Tis true, in some places, his wit is independent of his words, 
 as in that of the Rebel Scot 
 
 Had CAIN been Scot, GOD would have changed his doom, 
 Not forced him wander, but confined him home. 
 
 Si sic, omnia dixisset ! This is Wit in all languages. 'Tis 
 like MERCURY, never to be lost or killed. And so that 
 other, 
 
 For beauty, like white powder, makes no noise, 
 
 And yet the silent hypocrite destroys. 
 
 You see the last line is highly metaphorical ; but it is so 
 soft and gentle, that it does not shock us as we read it. 
 
 But to return from whence I have digressed, to the con- 
 sideration of the Ancients' Writing and Wit ; of which, by 
 this time, you will grant us, in some measure, to be fit judges. 
 
 Though I see many excellent thoughts in SENECA: yet he, 
 of them, who had a genius most proper for the Stage, was 
 OVID. He [i.e., OVID] had a way of writing so fit to stir up a 
 pleasing admiration and concernment, which are the objects 
 of a Tragedy ; and to show the various movements of a soul 
 combating betwixt different passions: that, had he lived in 
 our Age, or (in his own) could have writ with our advantages, 
 no man but must have yielded to him ; and therefore, I am 
 confident the MEDEA is none of his. For, though I esteem
 
 64 EUGENIUS ANCIENTS HAD FEW LOVE SCENES.[ J - 
 
 it, for the gravity and sentiousness of it (which he himself 
 concludes to be suitable to a Tragedy, Omne genus scripti 
 gravitate Tragcedia vincit; yet it moves not my soul enough, 
 to judge that he, who, in the Epic way, wrote things so near 
 the Drama (as the stories of MYRRH A, of CAUNUS and 
 BIBLIS, and the rest) should stir up no more concernment, 
 where he most endeavoured it. 
 
 The masterpiece of SENECA, I hold to be that Scene in the 
 Troades, where ULYSSES is seeking for ASTYANAX, to kill him. 
 There, you see the tenderness of a mother so represented in 
 ANDROMACHE, that it raises compassion to a high degree in 
 the reader ; and bears the nearest resemblance, of anything 
 in their Tragedies, to the excellent Scenes of Passion in 
 SHAKESPEARE or in FLETCHER. 
 
 For Love Scenes, you will find but few among them. 
 Their Tragic poets dealt not with that soft passion ; but with 
 Lust, Cruelty, Revenge, Ambition, and those bloody actions 
 they produced, which were more capable of raising horror 
 than compassion in an audience : leaving Love untouched, 
 whose gentleness would have tempered them ; which is the 
 most frequent of all the passions, and which (being the private 
 concernment of every person) is soothed by viewing its own 
 Image [p. 549] in a public entertainment. 
 
 Among their Comedies, we find a Scene or two of tender- 
 ness: and that, where you would least expect it, in PLAUTUS. 
 But to speak generally, their lovers say little, when they see 
 each other, but anima mea I vita, mea ! ayr) tcai ^rv^n as the 
 women, in JUVENAL'S time, used to cry out, in the fury of 
 their kindness. 
 
 Then indeed, to speak sense were an offence. Any sudden 
 gust of passion, as an ecstasy of love in an unexpected meeting, 
 cannot better be expressed than in a word and a sigh, breaking 
 one another. Nature is dumb on such occasions ; and to make 
 her speak, would be to represent her unlike herself. But there 
 are a thousand other concernments of lovers as jealousies, 
 complaints, contrivances, and the like ; where, not to open their 
 minds at large to each other, were to be wanting to their own 
 love, and to the expectation of the audience : who watch the 
 Movements of their Minds, as much as the Changes of their 
 Fortunes. For the Imaging of the first [/. 549], is properly 
 the work of a Poet ; the latter, he borrows of the Historian."
 
 CRITES CONCLUDES THE FIRST ARGUMENT. 65 
 
 EUGENIUS was proceeding in that part of his discourse, 
 when CRITES interrupted him. 
 
 SEE," said he, " EUGENIUS and I are never likely 
 to have this question decided betwixt us : for he 
 maintains the Moderns have acquired a new perfec- 
 tion in writing; I only grant, they have altered the 
 mode of it. 
 
 HOMER describes his heroes, [as] men of great appetites ; 
 lovers of beef broiled upon the coals, and good fellows : con- 
 trary to the practice of the French romances, whose heroes 
 neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep for love. 
 VIRGIL makes MNEAS, a bold avower of his own virtues, 
 
 Sum pius sENEAS fama super athera notus ; 
 
 which, in the civility of our Poets, is the character of a 
 Fanfaron or Hector. For with us, the Knight takes occasion to 
 walk out, or sleep, to avoid the vanity of telling his own story ; 
 which the trusty Squire is ever to perform for him [p. 535]. 
 
 So, in their Love Scenes, of which EUGENIUS spoke last, 
 the Ancients were more hearty ; we, the more talkative. They 
 writ love, as it was then the mode to make it. 
 
 And I will grant thus much to EUGENIUS, that, perhaps, 
 one of their Poets, had he lived in our Age, 
 
 Siforet hoc nostrum fato delupsus in avum, 
 
 as HORACE says of LUCILIUS, he had altered many things : 
 not that they were not natural before ; but that he might ac- 
 commodate himself to the Age he lived in. Yet, in the mean- 
 time, we are not to conclude anything rashly against those 
 great men ; but preserve to them, the dignity of Masters : and 
 give that honour to their memories, quos libitina sacravit ; part 
 of which, we expect may be paid to us in future times." 
 
 This moderation of CRITES, as it was pleasing to all the 
 company, so it put an end to that dispute : which EUGENIUS, 
 who seemed to have the better of the argument, would urge 
 no further. 
 
 But LISIDEIUS, after he had acknowledged himself of EUGE- 
 NIUS his opinion, concerning the Ancients; yet told him, 
 
 7
 
 66 LISIDEIUS OPENS THE SECOND ARGUMENT.[ J - 
 
 " He had forborne till his discourse was ended, to ask him, 
 Why he preferred the English Plays above those of other 
 nations ? and whether we ought not to submit our Stage to 
 the exactness of our next neighbours ? " 
 
 " Though," said EUGENIUS, " I am, at all times, ready to 
 defend the honour of my country against the French ; and to 
 maintain, we are as well able to vanquish them with our pens, 
 as our ancestors have been with their swords : yet, if you 
 please ! " added he, looking upon NEANDER, " I will commit 
 this cause to my friend's management. His opinion of our 
 plays is the same with mine. And besides, there is no reason 
 that CRITES and I, who have now left the Stage, should 
 re-enter so suddenly upon it : which is against the laws of 
 Comedy." 
 
 |F THE question had been stated," replied LISIDEIUS, 
 " Who had writ best, the French or English, forty 
 years ago [i.e., in 1625] ? I should have been of 
 your opinion ; and adjudged the honour to our 
 own nation: but, since that time," said he, turning towards 
 NEANDER, " we have been so long bad Englishmen, that 
 we had not leisure to be good Poets. BEAUMONT [d. 1615], 
 FLETCHER [d. 1625], and JOHNSON [d. 1637], who were 
 only [alone] capable of bringing us to that degree of perfec- 
 tion which we have, were just then leaving the world ; 
 as if, in an Age of so much horror, Wit and those 
 milder studies of humanity had no farther business among 
 us. But the Muses, who ever follow peace, went to plant in 
 another country. It was then, that the great Cardinal DE 
 RICHELIEU began to take them into his protection ; and that, 
 by his encouragement, CORNEILLE and some other Frenchmen 
 reformed their Theatre: which, before, was so much below 
 ours, as it now surpasses it, and the rest of Europe. But 
 because CRITES, in his discourse for the Ancients, has 
 prevented [anticipated] me by touching on many Rules of the 
 Stage, which the Moderns have borrowed from them; I shall 
 only, in short, demand of you, ' Whether you are not con- 
 vinced that, of all nations, the French have best observed 
 them ? ' 
 
 In the Unity of T I M E , you find them so scrupulous, that 
 it yet remains a dispute among their Poets, ' Whether the
 
 J D i66s-7:] LISIDEIUS TRAGI-COMEDY IN ENGLAND. 67 
 
 artificial day, of twelve hours more or less, be not meant by 
 ARISTOTLE, rather that the natural one of twenty-four ? ' and 
 consequently, 'Whether all Plays ought not to be reduced into 
 that compass ? ' This I can testify, that in all their dramas 
 writ within these last twenty years [1645-1665] and upwards, 
 I have not observed any, that have extended the time to thirty 
 hours. 
 
 In the Unity of PLACE, they are full[y] as scrupulous. 
 For many of their critics limit it to that spot of ground, where 
 the Play is supposed to begin. None of them exceed the 
 compass of the same town or city. 
 
 The Unity of A c T I o N in all their plays, is yet more 
 conspicuous. For they do not burden them with Under Plots, 
 as the English do; which is the reason why many Scenes 
 of our Tragi-Comedies carry on a Design that is nothing 
 of kin to the main Plot : and that we see two distincts webs 
 in a Play, like those in ill-wrought stuffs ; and two Actions 
 (that is, two Plays carried on together) to the confounding of 
 the audience : who, before they are warm in their concern- 
 ments for one part, are diverted to another; and, by that 
 means, expouse the interest of neither. 
 
 From hence likewise, it arises that one half of our Actors 
 [i.e., the Characters in a Play] are not known to the other. 
 They keep their distances, as if they were MONTAGUES and 
 CAPULETS ; and seldom begin an acquaintance till the last 
 Scene of the fifth Act, when they are all to meet on the Stage. 
 
 There is no Theatre in the world has anything so absurd 
 as the English Tragi-Comedy. 'Tis a Drama of our own 
 invention ; and the fashion of it is enough to proclaim it so. 
 Here, a course of mirth ; there, another of sadness and pas- 
 sion ; a third of honour ; and the fourth, a duel. Thus, in 
 two hours and a half, we run through all the fits of Bedlam. 
 
 The French afford you as much variety, on the same 
 day; but they do it not so unseasonably, or mal apropos 
 as we. Our Poets present you the Play and the Farce to- 
 gether ; and our Stages still retain somewhat of the original 
 civility of the " Red Bull." 
 
 Atque ursum et pugiles media inter carmina poscunt. 
 
 'The end of Tragedies or serious Plays,' says ARISTOTLE, 'is 
 to beget Admiration [wonderment], Compassion, or Concern-
 
 68 LISIDEIUS TRUTH INWOVEN WITH FICTION.[ J> 
 
 rnent.' But are not mirth and compassion things incompatible? 
 and is it not evident, that the Poet must, of necessity, destroy 
 the former, by intermingling the latter ? that is, he must ruin 
 the sole end and object of his Tragedy, to introduce somewhat 
 that is forced in, and is not of the body of it ! Would you not 
 think that physician mad ! who having prescribed a purge, 
 should immediately order you to take restringents upon it ? 
 
 But to leave our Plays, and return to theirs. I have noted 
 one great advantage they have had in the Plotting of their 
 Tragedies, that is, they are always grounded upon some 
 known History, according to that of HORACE, Ex noto fictum 
 carm n sequar: and in that, they have so imitated the Ancients, 
 that they have surpassed them. For the Ancients, as was 
 observed before [p. 522], took for the foundation of their Plays 
 some poetical fiction; such as, under that consideration, could 
 move but little concernment in the audience, because they al- 
 ready knew the event of it. But the French[man] goes farther. 
 
 A tque ita mentitur, sic veris falso remiscet, 
 Primo ne medium, media ne discrepet imum. 
 
 He so interweaves Truth with probable Fiction, that he 
 puts a pleasing fallacy upon us; mends the intrigues of Fate; 
 and dispenses with the severity of History, to reward that 
 virtue, which has been rendered to us, there, unfortunate. 
 Sometimes the Story has left the success so doubtful, that 
 the writer is free, by the privilege of a Poet, to take that 
 which, of two or more relations, will best suit his Design. 
 As, for example, the death of CYRUS; whom JUSTIN and 
 some others report to have perished in the Scythian War; but 
 XENOPHON affirms to have died in his bed of extreme old age. 
 
 Nay more, when the event is past dispute, even then, we 
 are willing to be deceived : and the Poet, if he contrives it 
 with appearance of truth, has all the audience of his party 
 [on his side] , at least, during the time his Play is acting. So 
 na urally, we are kind to virtue (when our own interest is not 
 in question) that we take it up, as the general concernment 
 of mankind. 
 
 On the other side, if you consider the Historical Plays of 
 SHAKESPEARE; they are rather so many Chronicles of Kings,
 
 J I 5fe?5;] LISIDEIUS WE CRAVE TRUTH, OR ITS SHEW. 69 
 
 or the business, many times, of thirty or forty years crampt 
 into a Representation of two hours and a half: which is not 
 to imitate or paint Nature, but rather to draw her in minia- 
 ture, to take her in little ; to look upon her, through the 
 wrong of a perspective [telescope], and receive her Images [pp. 
 528, 549], not only much less, but infinitely more imperfect 
 than the Life. This, instead of making a Play delightful, 
 renders it ridiculous. 
 
 Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. 
 
 For the Spirit of Man cannot be satisfied but with Truth, 
 or, at least, Verisimilitude : and a Poem is to contain, if not 
 TO, CTV/JM, yet fovftounv opoia ; as one of the Greek poets has 
 expressed it. [Seep. 589.] 
 
 Another thing, in which the French differ from us and 
 from the Spaniards, is that they do not embarrass or cumber 
 themselves with too much Plot. They only represent so 
 much of a Story as will constitute One whole and great 
 Action sufficient for a Play. We, who undertake more, do but 
 multiply Adventures [pp. 541, 552] ; which (not being produced 
 from one another, as Effects from Causes, but, barely, follow- 
 ing) constitute many Actions in the Drama, and consequently 
 make it many Plays. 
 
 But, by pursuing close[ly] one Argument, which is not 
 cloyed with many Turns ; the French have gained more 
 liberty for Verse, in which they write. They have leisure to 
 dwell upon a subject which deserves it ; and to represent the 
 passions [^.542] (which we have acknowledged to be the Poet's 
 work) without being hurried from one thing to another, as 
 we are in the plays of CALDERON ; which we have seen lately 
 upon our theatres, under the name of Spanish Plots. 
 
 I have taken notice but of one Tragedy of ours ; whose 
 Plot has that uniformity and unity of Design in it, which I 
 have commended in the French ; and that is, ROLLO, or 
 rather under the name of ROLLO, the story of BASSANIUS 
 and G(ETA, in HERODIAN. There, indeed, the plot is neither 
 large nor intricate ; but just enough to fill the minds of the 
 audience, not to cloy them. Besides, you see it founded on 
 the truth of History; only the time of the Action is not 
 reduceable to the strictness of the Rules. And you see,
 
 ;o A FRENCH PLAY EXALTS ONE CHIEF CHARACTER.[ D T ^ d s e ; 
 
 in some places, a little farce mingled, which is below the 
 dignity of the other parts. And in this, all our Poets are ex- 
 tremely peccant ; even BEN. JOHNSON himself, in SEJANUS 
 and CATILINE, has given this Oleo [hodge-podge] of a Play, 
 this unnatural mixture of Comedy and Tragedy : which, to 
 me, sounds just as ridiculous as The History of DAVID, with 
 the merry humours of GOLIAS. In SEJANUS, you may take 
 notice of the Scene between LiviA and the Physician', which 
 is a pleasant satire upon the artificial helps of beauty. In 
 CATILINE, you may see the Parliament of Women; the little 
 envies of them to one another ; and all that passes betwixt 
 CURIO and FULVIA. Scenes, admirable in their kind, but 
 of an ill mingle with the rest. 
 
 But I return again to the French Writers : who, as I have 
 said, do not burden themselves too much with Plot ; which 
 has been reproached to them by an Ingenious Person of our 
 nation, as a fault. For he says, ' They commonly make but 
 one person considerable in a Play. They dwell upon him 
 and his concernments ; while the rest of the persons are 
 only subservient to set him off.' If he intends this by it, that 
 there is one person in the Play who is of greater dignity than 
 the rest ; he must tax not only theirs, but those of the 
 Ancients, and (which he would be loath to do) the best of 
 ours. For it 'tis impossible but that one person must be 
 more conspicuous in it than any other ; and consequently 
 the greatest share in the Action must devolve on him. We 
 see it so in the management of all affairs. Even in the most 
 equal aristocracy, the balance cannot be so justly poised, 
 but some one will be superior to the rest, either in parts, 
 fortune, interest, or the consideration of some glorious ex- 
 ploit ; which will reduce [lead] the greatest part of business 
 into his hands. 
 
 But if he would have us to imagine, that in exalting of 
 one character, the rest of them are neglected ; and that all of 
 them have not some share or other in the Action of the Play: 
 I desire him to produce any of CORNEILLE'S Tragedies, 
 wherein every person, like so many servants in a well 
 governed family, has not some employment ; and who is not 
 necessary to the carrying on of the Plot, or, at least, to your 
 understanding it.
 
 JlD i66t-7-] LlSIDEIUS TWO KINDS OF RELATIONS. Jl 
 
 There are, indeed, some protactic persons [precursors} in 
 the Ancients ; whom they make use of in their Plays, either 
 to hear or give the Relation : but the French avoid this with 
 great address ; making their Narrations only to, or by such, 
 who are some way interessed [interested] in the main Design. 
 
 And now I am speaking of RELATIONS; I cannot 
 take a fitter opportunity to add this, in favour of the French, 
 that they often use them with better judgement, more apropos 
 than the English do. 
 
 Not that I commend NARRATIONS in general ; but 
 there are two sorts of them : 
 
 One, of those things which are antecedent to the Play, and 
 are related to make the Conduct of it more clear to us. But 
 'tis a fault to choose such subjects for the Stage, as will in- 
 force us upon that rock: because we see that they are seldom 
 listened to by the audience ; and that it is, many times, the 
 ruin of the play. For, being once let pass without attention, 
 the audience can never recover themselves to understand the 
 Plot; and, indeed, it is somewhat unreasonable that they 
 should be put to so much trouble, as that, to comprehend 
 what passes in their sight, they must have recourse to what 
 was done, perhaps ten or twenty years ago. 
 
 But there is another sort of RELATIONS, that is, of things 
 happening in the Action of a Play, and supposed to be done 
 behind the scenes : and this is, many times, both convenient 
 and beautiful. For by it, the French avoid the tumult, 
 which we are subject to in England, by representing duels, 
 battles, and such like ; which renders our Stage too like the 
 theatres where they fight for prizes [i.e., theatres used as 
 Fencing Schools, for Assaults of Arms, &c.]. For what is more 
 ridiculous than to represent an army, with a drum and five 
 men behind it ? All which, the hero on the other side, is to 
 drive in before him. Or to see a duel fought, and one slain 
 with two or three thrusts of the foils ? which we know are 
 so blunted, that we might give a man an hour to kill another, 
 in good earnest, with them. 
 
 I have observed that in all our Tragedies, the audience 
 cannot forbear laughing, when the Actors are to die. 'Tis 
 the most comic part of the whole Play. 
 
 All Passions may be lively Represented on the Stage, if,
 
 72 LlSIDEIUS I M AG I N A T I O N V. S I G H T. [ J ' 
 
 to the well writing of them, the Actor supplies a good 
 commanded voice, and limbs that move easily, and without 
 stiffness : but there are many Actions, which can never be 
 Imitated to a just height. 
 
 Dying, especially, is a thing, which none but a Roman gladi- 
 ator could naturally perform upon the Stage, when he did not 
 Imitate or Represent it, but naturally Do it. And, therefore, 
 it is better to omit the Representation of it. The words of a 
 good writer, which describe it lively, will make a deeper 
 impression of belief in us, than all the Actor can persuade us 
 to, when he seems to fall dead before us : as the Poet, in the 
 description of a beautiful garden, or meadow, will please our 
 Imagination more than the place itself will please our sight. 
 When we see death Represented, we are convinced it is but 
 fiction ; but when we hear it Related, our eyes (the strongest 
 witnesses) are wanting, which might have undeceived us : 
 and we are all willing to favour the sleight, when the Poet 
 does not too grossly impose upon us. 
 
 They, therefore, who imagine these Relations would make 
 no concernment in the audience, are deceived, by confound- 
 ing them with the other ; which are of things antecedent to 
 the Play. Those are made often, in cold blood, as I may 
 say, to the audience ; but these are warmed with our concern- 
 ments, which are, before, awakened in the Play. 
 
 What the philosophers say of Motion, that ' when it is once 
 begun, it continues of itself ; and will do so, to Eternity, with- 
 out some stop be put to it,' is clearly true, on this occasion. 
 The Soul, being moved with the Characters and Fortunes of 
 those Imaginary Persons, continues going of its own accord ; 
 and we are no more weary to hear what becomes of them, 
 when they are not on the Stage, than we are to listen to the 
 news of an absent mistress. 
 
 But it is objected, ' That if one part of the Play may be 
 related ; then, why not all ? ' 
 
 I answer. Some parts of the Action are more fit to be 
 Represented ; some, to be Related. CORNEILLE says judi- 
 ciously, ' That the Poet is not obliged to expose to view all 
 particular actions, which conduce to the principal. He 
 ought to select such of them to be Seen, which will appear 
 with the greatest beauty, either by the magnificence of the 
 shew, or the vehemence of the passions which they produce,
 
 J ' ^efe] LISIDEIUS EMOTION, THE NOBLEST ACTION. 73 
 
 or some other charm which they have in them : and let the 
 rest arrive to the audience, by Narration.' 
 
 'Tis a great mistake in us, to believe the French present 
 no part of the Action upon the Stage. Every alteration, or 
 crossing of a Design ; every new sprung passion, and turn of 
 it, is a part of the Action, and much the noblest : except we 
 conceive nothing to be Action, till they come to blows ; as if 
 the painting of the Hero's Mind were not more properly the 
 Poet's work, than, the strength of his Body. 
 
 Nor does this anything contradict the opinion of HORACE, 
 where he tells us 
 
 Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem 
 Quam qua sunt occulis subjecta fidelibus. 
 
 For he says, immediately after, 
 
 Non tamen intus 
 
 Digna geri promes in scenam, Multaque tolles 
 Ex occulis, qua mox narret facundia prczsens. 
 
 Among which " many," he recounts some, 
 
 Nee pueros coram populo MEDEA trucidet, 
 
 Aut in avem PROGNE mutetur, CADLIUS in anguem, &c. 
 
 that is, 'Those actions, which, by reason of their cruelty, will 
 cause aversion in us ; or (by reason of their impossibility) un- 
 belief [pp. 496, 545], ought either wholly to be avoided by 
 a Poet, or only delivered by Narration.' To which, we may 
 have leave to add, such as ' to avoid tumult,' as was before 
 hinted [pp. 535, 544]; or 'to reduce the Plot into a more 
 reasonable compass of time,' or 'for defect of beauty in them,' 
 are rather to be Related than presented to the eye. 
 
 Examples of all these kinds, are frequent ; not only among 
 all the Ancients, but in the best received of our English poets. 
 
 We find BEN. JOHNSON using them in his Magnetic Lady, 
 where one comes out from dinner, and Relates the quarrels 
 and disorders of it ; to save the indecent appearing of them 
 on the Stage, and to abbreviate the story : and this, in express 
 imitation of TERENCE, who had done the same before him, in
 
 74 LISIDEIUS USES OF RELATIONS IN PLAYS. [ J - 
 
 his Eunuch ; where PYTHIAS makes the like Relation of what 
 had happened within, at the soldiers' entertainment. 
 
 The Relations, likewise, of SEJANUS's death and the pro- 
 digies before it, are remarkable. The one of which, was hid 
 from sight, to avoid the horror and tumult of the Representa- 
 tion : the other, to shun the introducing of things impossible 
 to be believed. 
 
 In that excellent Play, the King and no King, FLETCHER 
 goes yet farther. For the whole unravelling of the Plot is 
 done by Narration in the Fifth Act, after the manner of the 
 Ancients : and it moves great concernment in the audience ; 
 though it be only a Relation of what was done many years 
 before the Play. 
 
 I could multiply other instances ; but these are sufficient 
 to prove, that there is no error in chosing a subject which re- 
 quires this sort of Narration. In the ill managing of them, 
 they may. 
 
 But I find, I have been too long in this discourse; since the 
 French have many other excellencies, not common to us. 
 
 As that, you never see any of their Plays end with a Con- 
 version, or simple Change of Will : which is the ordinary way 
 our Poets use [are accustomed] to end theirs. 
 
 It shows little art in the conclusion of a Dramatic Poem, 
 when they who have hindered the felicity during the Four Acts, 
 desist from it in the Fifth, without some powerful cause to 
 take them off: and though I deny not but such reasons may 
 be found ; yet it is a path that is cautiously to be trod, and 
 the Poet is to be sure he convinces the audience, that the 
 motive is strong enough. 
 
 As, for example, the conversion of the Usurer in the 
 Scornful Lady, seems to me, a little forced. For, being a 
 Usurer, which implies a Lover of Money in the highest 
 degree of covetousness (and such, the Poet has represented 
 him) ; the account he gives for the sudden change, is, 
 that he has been duped by the wild young fellow: which, 
 in reason, might render him more wary another time, and 
 make him punish himself with harder fare and coarser 
 clothes, to get it up again. But that he should look upon it 
 as a judgement, and so repent ; we may expect to hear of in 
 a Sermon, but I should never endure it in a Play.
 
 LISIDEIUS RHYME v. BLANK VERSE. 75 
 
 I pass by this. Neither will I insist upon the care they take, 
 that no person, after his first entrance, shall ever appear ; but the 
 business which brings upon the Stage, shall be evident. Which, 
 if observed, must needs render all the events of the Play 
 more natural. For there, you see the probability of every 
 accident, in the cause that produced it ; and that which 
 appears chance in the Play, will seem so reasonable to you, 
 that you will there find it almost necessary : so that in the 
 Exits of their Actors, you have a clear account of their purpose 
 and design in the next Entrance ; though, if the Scene be well 
 wrought, the event will commonly deceive you. ' For there 
 is nothing so absurd,' says CORNEILLE, ' as for an Actor to 
 leave the Stage, only because he has no more to say ! ' 
 
 I should now speak of the beauty of their Rhyme, and the just 
 reason I have to prefer that way of writing, in Tragedies, 
 before ours, in Blank Verse. But, because it is partly re- 
 ceived by us, and therefore, not altogether peculiar to them ; 
 I will say no more of it, in relation to their Plays. For our 
 own ; I doubt not but it will exceedingly beautify them : and 
 I can see but one reason why it should not generally obtain ; 
 that is, because our Poets write so ill in it [pp. 503, 578, 598]. 
 This, indeed, may prove a more prevailing argument, than all 
 others which are used to destroy it: and, therefore, I am only 
 troubled when great and judicious Poets, and those who are 
 acknowledged such, have writ or spoke against it. As for 
 others, they are to be answered by that one sentence of an 
 ancient author. Sed ut primo ad consequendos eos quos priores 
 ducimus accendimur, ita ubi aut prceteriri, aut cequari eos posse 
 desperavimus, studium cum spe senescit : quod, scilicet, assequi non 
 potest, sequi desinit; prczteritoque eo in quo eminere non possumus, 
 aliquid in quo nitamur conquirimus" 
 
 LISIDEIUS concluded, in this manner; and N BANDER, after 
 a little pause, thus answered him. 
 
 SHALL grant LISIDEIUS, without much dispute, a 
 great part of what he has urged against us. 
 
 For I acknowledge the French contrive their Plots 
 more regularly, observe the laws of Comedy, and 
 decorum of the Stage, to speak generally, with more exactness
 
 76 NEANDER FRENCH HAVE TRAGI-COMEDY. [ J - 
 
 than the English. Farther, I deny not but he has taxed us 
 justly, in some irregularities of ours ; which he has mentioned. 
 Yet, after all, I am of opinion, that neither our faults, nor 
 their virtues are considerable enough to place them above us. 
 
 For the lively Imitation of Nature being the Definition of a 
 Play [p. 513] ; those which best fulfil that law, ought to be 
 esteemed superior to the others. Tis true those beauties of 
 the French Poesy are such as will raise perfection higher 
 where it is ; but are not sufficient to give it where it is not. 
 They are, indeed, the beauties of a Statue, not of a Man ; 
 because not animated with the Soul of Poesy, which limitation 
 of Humour and Passions. 
 
 And this, LISIDEIUS himself, or any other, however biased 
 to their party, cannot but acknowledge; if he will either 
 compare the Humours of our Comedies, or the Characters of 
 our serious Plays with theirs. 
 
 He that will look upon theirs, which have been written till 
 [within] these last ten years [i.e., 1655, when MOLIERE began 
 to write], or thereabouts, will find it a hard matter to pick out 
 two or three passable Humours amongst them. CORNEILLE 
 himself, their Arch Poet ; what has he produced, except the 
 Liar ? and you know how it was cried up in France. But 
 when it came upon the English Stage, though well translated, 
 and that part of DORANT acted to so much advantage by 
 Mr. HART, as, I am confident, it never received in its own 
 country ; the most favourable to it, would not put it in com- 
 petition with many of FLETCHER'S or BEN. JOHNSON'S. In 
 the rest of CORNEILLE'S Comedies you have little humour. 
 He tells you, himself, his way is first to show two lovers in 
 good intelligence with each other ; in the working up of the 
 Play, to embroil them by some mistake ; and in the latter end, 
 to clear it up. 
 
 But, of late years, DE MOLIERE, the younger CORNEILLE, 
 QUINAULT, and some others, have been imitating, afar off, 
 the quick turns and graces of the English Stage. They 
 have mixed their serious Plays with mirth, like our Tragi- 
 comedies, since the death of Cardinal RICHELIEU [in 1642] : 
 which LISIDEIUS and many others not observing, have com- 
 mended that in them for a virtue [p. 531], which they them- 
 selves no longer practise.
 
 NEANDER DEFENCE OF TRAGI-COMEDY. 77 
 
 Most of their new Plays are, like some of ours, derived from 
 the Spanish novels. There is scarce one of them, without a 
 veil ; and a trusty DIEGO, who drolls, much after the rate of 
 the Adventures [pp. 533, 552]. But their humours, if I may 
 grace them with that name, are so thin sown ; that never above 
 One of them comes up in a Play. I dare take upon me, to find 
 more variety of them, in one play of BEN. JOHNSON'S, than in 
 all theirs together : as he who has seen the A Ichemist, the 
 Silent Woman, or Bartholomew Fair, cannot but acknowledge 
 with me. I grant the French have performed what was 
 possible on the ground work of the Spanish plays. What 
 was pleasant before, they have made regular. But there is 
 not above one good play to be writ upon all those Plots. 
 They are too much alike, to please often ; which we need 
 not [adduce] the experience of our own Stage to justify. 
 
 As for their New Way of mingling Mirth with serious Plot, 
 I do not, with LISIDEIUS, condemn the thing; though I can- 
 not approve their manner of doing it. He tells us, we cannot 
 so speedily re-collect ourselves, after a Scene of great Passion 
 and Concernment, as to pass to another of Mirth and Humour, 
 and to enjoy it with any relish. But why should he imagine 
 the Soul of Man more heavy than his Senses? Does not the 
 eye pass from an unpleasant object, to a pleasant, in a much 
 shorter time than is required to this ? and does not the un- 
 pleasantness of the first commend the beauty of the latter? 
 The old rule of Logic might have convinced him, that ' Con- 
 traries when placed near, set off each other.' A continued 
 gravity keeps the spirit too much bent. We must refresh it 
 sometimes ; as we bait [lunch] upon a journey, that we may go 
 on with greater ease. A Scene of Mirth mixed with Tragedy, 
 has the same effect upon us, which our music has betwixt 
 the Acts ; and that, we find a relief to us from the best Plots 
 and Language of the Stage, if the discourses have been long. 
 
 I must, therefore, have stronger arguments, ere I am con- 
 vinced that Compassion and Mirth, in the same subject, 
 destroy each other : and, in the meantime, cannot but con- 
 clude to the honour of our Nation, that we have invented, 
 increased, and perfected a more pleasant way of writing for 
 the Stage than was ever known to the Ancients or Moderns 
 of any nation; which is, Tragi- Comedy. 
 
 And this leads me to wonder why LISIDEIUS [p. 533], and
 
 78 NEANDER FRENCH VERSE is FRIGID AND [ J - 
 
 yden. 
 65-7. 
 
 many others, should cry up the barrenness of the French Plots 
 above the variety and copiousness of the English ? 
 
 Their Plots are single. They carry on one Design, which 
 is push forward by all the Actors ; every scene in the Play 
 contributing and moving towards it. Ours, besides the main 
 Design, have Under Plots or By-Concernments of less con- 
 siderable persons and intrigues ; which are carried on, with 
 the motion of the main Plot : just as they say the orb \lorbits] 
 of the fixed stars, and those of the planets (though they have 
 motions of their own), are whirled about, by the motion of 
 the Primwn Mobile in which they are contained. That 
 similitude expresses much of the English Stage. For, if con- 
 trary motions may be found in Nature to agree, if a planet 
 can go East and West at the same time; one way, by virtue 
 of his own motion, the other, by the force of the First Mover : 
 it will not be difficult to imagine how the Under Plot, which 
 is only different [from], not contrary to the great Design, may 
 naturally be conducted along with it. 
 
 EUGENIUS [? LISIDEIUS] has already shown us [p. 534], 
 from the confession of the French poets, that the Unity of 
 Action is sufficiently preserved, if all the imperfect actions of 
 the Play are conducing to the main Design : but when those 
 petty intrigues of a Play are so ill ordered, that they have no 
 coherence with the other ; I must grant, that LISIDEIUS has 
 reason to tax that Want of due Connection. For Co-ordina- 
 tion in a Play is as dangerous and unnatural as in a State. 
 In the meantime, he must acknowledge, our Variety (if well 
 ordered) will afford a greater pleasure to the audience. 
 
 As for his other argument, that by pursuing one single Theme, 
 they gain an advantage to express, and work up the passions \p. 
 533] J I wish any example he could bring from them, would 
 make it good. For I confess their verses are, to me, the 
 coldest I have ever read. 
 
 Neither, indeed, is it possible for them, in the way they 
 take, so to express Passion as that the effects of it should ap- 
 pear in the concernment of an audience; their speeches being 
 so many declamations, which tire us with the length : so 
 that, instead of persuading us to grieve for their imaginary 
 heroes, we are concerned for our own trouble, as we are, in 
 the tedious visits of bad [dull] company ; we are in pain till 
 they are gone.
 
 J> D iS:] PASSIONLESS J THEIR PLAYS BUT MONOLOGUES. 79 
 
 When the French Stage came to be reformed by Cardinal 
 RICHELIEU, those long harangues were introduced, to comply 
 with the gravity of a Churchman. Look upon the CINNA and 
 POMPEY I They are not so properly to be called Plays, as 
 long Discourses of Reason [s] of State : and POLIEUCTE, in 
 matters of Religion, is as solemn as the long stops upon our 
 organs. Since that time, it has grown into a custom ; and 
 their Actors speak by the hour glass, as our Parsons do. 
 Nay, they account it the grace of their parts ! and think 
 themselves disparaged by the Poet, if they may not twice or 
 thrice in a Play, entertain the audience, with a speech of a 
 hundred or two hundred lines. 
 
 I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French : 
 for as we, who are a more sullen people, come to be diverted 
 at our Plays ; they, who are of an airy and gay temper, come 
 thither to make themselves more serious. And this I conceive 
 to be one reason why Comedy is more pleasing to us, and 
 Tragedy to them. 
 
 But, to speak generally, it cannot be denied that short 
 Speeches and Replies are more apt to move the passions, and 
 beget concernment in us ; than the other. For it is unnatural 
 for any one in a gust of passion, to speak long together ; or 
 for another, in the same condition, to suffer him without 
 interruption. 
 
 Grief and Passion are like floods raised in little brooks, by 
 a sudden rain. They are quickly up; and if the Concernment 
 be poured unexpectedly in upon us, it overflows us : but a long 
 sober shower gives them leisure to run out as they came in, 
 without troubling the ordinary current. 
 
 As for Comedy, Repartee is one of its chiefest graces. The 
 greatest pleasure of the audience is a Chase of Wit, kept up 
 on both sides, and swiftly managed. And this, our forefathers 
 (if not we) have had, in FLETCHER'S Plays, to a much higher 
 degree of perfection, than the French Poets can arrive at. 
 
 There is another part of LISIDEIUS his discourse, in which 
 he has rather excused our neighbours, than commended them; 
 that is, for aiming only [simply] to make one person considerable 
 in their Plays. 
 
 'Tis very true what he has urged, that one Character in all 
 Plays, even without the Poet's care, will have the advantage
 
 8o NEANDER OUR PLAYS HAVE MORE VARIETY.[ J - 
 
 of all the others; and that the Design of the whole Drama will 
 chiefly depend on it. But this hinders not, that there may 
 be more shining Characters in the Play ; many persons of a 
 second magnitude, nay, some so very near, so almost equal 
 to the first, that greatness may be opposed to greatness : and 
 all the persons be made considerable, not only by their Quality, 
 but their Action. 
 
 'Tis evident that the more the persons are ; the greater will 
 be the variety of the Plot. If then, the parts are managed so 
 regularly, that the beauty of the whole be kept entire ; and 
 that the variety become not a perplexed and confused mass 
 of accidents : you will find it infinitely pleasing, to be 
 led in a labyrinth of Design; where you see some of your 
 way before you, yet discern not the end, till you arrive 
 at it. 
 
 And that all this is practicable; I can produce, for examples, 
 many of our English plays, as the Maid's Tragedy, the 
 Alchemist, the Silent Woman. 
 
 I was going to have named the Fox ; but that the Unity of 
 Design seems not exactly observed in it. For there appear 
 two Actions in the Play ; the first naturally ending with the 
 Fourth Act, the second forced from it, in the Fifth. Which 
 yet, is the less to be condemned in him, because the disguise 
 of VOLPONE (though it suited not with his character as a 
 crafty or covetous person) agreed well enough with that of 
 a voluptuary: and, by it, the Poet gained the end he aimed at, 
 the punishment of vice, and reward of virtue; which that 
 disguise produced. So that, to judge equally of it, it was 
 an excellent Fifth Act ; but not so naturally proceeding from 
 the former. 
 
 But to leave this, and to pass to the latter part of LISIDEIUS 
 his discourse; which concerns RELATIONS. I must acknow- 
 ledge, with him, that the French have reason, when they hide 
 that part of the A ction, which would occasion too much tumult on 
 the Stage ; and choose rather to have it made known by Nar- 
 ration to the audience [p. 535]. Farther ; I think it very con- 
 venient, for the reasons he has given, that all incredible Actions 
 were removed [p. 537] : but, whether custom has so insinuated 
 itself into our countrymen, or Nature has so formed them to 
 fierceness, I know not ; but they will scarcely suffer combats
 
 I 5^:] NEANDER JONSON'S ATTACK ON SHAKESPEARE. 8 1 
 
 or other objects of horror to be taken from them. And indeed 
 the indecency of tumults is all which can be objected against 
 fighting. For why may not our imagination as well suffer 
 itself to be deluded with the probability of it, as any other 
 thing in the Play. For my part, I can, with as great ease, 
 persuade myself that the blows, which are struck, are given 
 in good earnest ; as I can, that they who strike them, are 
 Kings, or Princes, or those persons which they represent. 
 
 For objects of incredibility \p. 537], I would be satisfied from 
 LISIDEIUS, whether we have any so removed from all ap- 
 pearance of truth, as are those in CORNEILLE'SANDROMEDE ? 
 A Play that has been frequented [repeated] the most, of any 
 he has writ. If the PERSEUS or the son of the heathen god, 
 the Pegasus, and the Monster, were not capable to choke a 
 strong belief? let him blame any representation of ours here- 
 after! Those, indeed, were objects of delight; yet the reason is 
 the same as to the probability: for he makes it not a Ballette 
 [Ballet} or Masque; but a Play, which is, to resemble truth. 
 
 As for Death, that it ought not to be represented [p. 536] : I 
 have, besides the arguments alleged by LISIDEIUS, the autho- 
 rity of BEN. JOHNSON, who has foreborne it in his Tragedies : 
 for both the death of SE JANUS and CATILINE are Related. 
 Though, in the latter, I cannot but observe one irregularity of 
 that great poet. He has removed the Scene in the same 
 Act, from Rome to CATILINE'S army ; and from thence, again 
 to Rome : and, besides, has allowed a very inconsiderable 
 time after CATILINE'S speech, for the striking of the battle, 
 and the return of PETREIUS, who is to relate the event 
 of it to the Senate. Which I should not animadvert upon 
 him, who was otherwise a painful observer of TO irpkirov or 
 the Decorum of the Stage : if he had not used extreme 
 severity in his judgement [in his " Discoveries "] upon the 
 incomparable SHAKESPEARE, for the same fault. 
 
 To conclude on this subject of Relations, if we are to be 
 blamed for showing too much of the Action ; the French are 
 as faulty for discovering too little of it. A mean betwixt 
 both, should be observed by every judicious writer, so as the 
 audience may neither be left unsatisfied, by not seeing what 
 is beautiful ; or shocked, by beholding what is either incredible 
 or indecent. 
 
 I hope I have already proved in this discourse, that though
 
 82 NEANDER LOSSES THROUGH THE UNITIES. [ J - 
 
 we are not altogether so punctual as the French, in observing 
 the laws of Comedy : yet our errors are so few, and [so] little ; 
 and those things wherein we excel them so considerable, 
 that we ought, of right, to be preferred before them. 
 
 But what will LISIDEIUS say ? if they themselves acknow- 
 ledge they are too strictly tied up by those laws : for the 
 breaking which, he has blamed the English ? I will allege 
 CORNEILLE'S words, as I find them in the end of this Discourse 
 of The three Unities. II est facile aux speculatifs d'etre severe, 
 &c. ' 'Tis easy, for speculative people to judge severely: but if 
 they would produce to public view, ten or twelve pieces of 
 this nature ; they would, perhaps, give more latitude to the 
 Rules, than Ihavedone: when, by experience, they had known 
 how much we are bound up, and constrained by them, and 
 how many beauties of the Stage they banished from it.' 
 
 To illustrate, a little, what he has said. By their servile 
 imitations of the UNITIES of TIME and PLACE, and 
 INTEGRITYOF SCENES; they have brought upon them- 
 selves the Dearth of Plot and Narrowness of Imagination 
 which may be observed in all their Plays. 
 
 How many beautiful accidents might naturally happen in 
 two or three days ; which cannot arrive, with any probability, 
 in the compass of twenty-four hours ? There is time to be 
 allowed, also, for maturity of design: which, amongst great and 
 prudent persons, such as are often represented in Tragedy, 
 cannot, with any likelihood of truth, be brought to pass at so 
 short a warning. 
 
 Farther, by tying themselves strictly to the UNITY OF 
 PLACE and UNBROKEN SCENES; they are forced, 
 many times, to omit some beauties which cannot be shown 
 where the Act began : but might, if the Scene were interrupted, 
 and the Stage cleared, for the persons to enter in another 
 place. And therefore, the French Poets are often forced upon 
 absurdities. For if the Act begins in a Chamber, all the 
 persons in the Play must have some business or other to 
 come thither ; or else they are not to be shown in that Act : 
 and sometimes their characters are very unfitting to appear 
 there. As, suppose it were the King's Bedchamber ; yet the 
 meanest man in the Tragedy, must come and despatch his 
 business there, rather than in the Lobby or Courtyard (which
 
 BANDER SCENES REVOLVING | ACTORS FIXED. 83 
 
 is [were] fitter for him), for fear the Stage should be cleared, 
 and the Scenes broken. 
 
 Many times, they fall, by it, into a greater inconvenience : 
 for they keep their Scenes Unbroken ; and yet Change the 
 Place. As, in one of their newest Plays [i.e., before 1665]. 
 Where the Act begins in a Street : there, a gentleman is to 
 meet his friend ; he sees him, with his man, coming out from 
 his father's house ; they talk together, and the first goes out. 
 The second, who is a lover, has made an appointment with 
 his mistress : she appears at the Window ; and then, we are 
 to imagine the Scene lies under it. This gentleman is called 
 away, and leaves his servant with his mistress. Presently, 
 her father is heard from within. The young lady is afraid 
 the servingman should be discovered ; and thrusts him 
 through a door, which is supposed to be her Closet [Boudoir] . 
 After this, the father enters to the daughter ; and now the 
 Scene is in a House : for he is seeking, from one room to 
 another, for his poor PHILIPIN or French DIEGO : who is 
 heard from within, drolling, and breaking many a miserable 
 conceit upon his sad condition. In this ridiculous manner, 
 the Play goes on ; the Stage being never empty all the while. 
 So that the Street, the Window, the two Houses, and the 
 Closet are made to walk about, and the Persons to stand still ! 
 
 Now, what, I beseech you ! is more easy than to write a 
 regular French Play ? or more difficult than to write an 
 irregular English one, like those of FLETCHER, or of 
 SHAKESPEARE ? 
 
 If they content themselves, as CORNEILLE did, with some 
 flat design, which (like an ill riddle) is found out ere it be 
 half proposed ; such Plots, we can make every way regular, 
 as easily as they : but whene'er they endeavour to rise up to 
 any quick Turns or Counter-turns of Plot, as some of them 
 have attempted, since CORNEILLE'S Plays have been less in 
 vogue; you see they write as irregularly as we ! though they 
 cover it more speciously. Hence the reason is perspicuous, 
 why no French plays, when translated, have, or ever can 
 succeed upon the English Stage. For, if you consider the 
 Plots, our own are fuller of variety ; if the Writing, ours are 
 more quick, and fuller of spirit : and therefore 'tis a strange 
 mistake in those who decry the way of writing Plays in 
 Verse ; as if the English therein imitated the French.
 
 84 NEANDER ENGLISH PLAYS BETTER IN PLOT, [^5!": 
 
 We have borrowed nothing from them. Our Plots are 
 weaved in English looms. We endeavour, therein, to follow 
 the variety and greatness of Characters, which are derived 
 to us from SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER. The copiousness 
 and well knitting of the Intrigues, we have from JOHNSON. 
 And for the Verse itself, we have English precedents, of elder 
 date than any of CORNEILLE'S plays. Not to name our old 
 Comedies before SHAKESPEARE, which are all writ in verse of 
 six feet or Alexandrines, such as the French now use : I can 
 show in SHAKESPEARE, many Scenes of Rhyme together; 
 and the like in BEN JOHNSON'S tragedies. In CATILINE and 
 SEJANUS, sometimes, thirty or forty lines. I mean, besides 
 the Chorus or the Monologues ; which, by the way, showed 
 BEN. no enemy to this way of writing: especially iif you look 
 upon his Sad Shepherd, which goes sometimes upon rhyme, 
 sometimes upon blank verse ; like a horse, who eases himself 
 upon trot and amble. You find him, likewise, commending 
 FLETCHER'S pastoral of the Faithful Shepherdess: which is, 
 for the most part, [in] Rhyme; though not refined to that 
 purity, to which it hath since been brought. And these 
 examples are enough to clear us from a servile imitation of 
 the French. 
 
 But to return, from whence I have digressed. I dare 
 boldly affirm these two things of the English Drama. 
 
 First. That we have many Plays of ours as regular as 
 any of theirs ; and which, besides, have more variety of 
 Plot and Characters. And 
 
 Secondly. That in most of the irregular Plays of 
 SHAKESPEARE or FLETCHER (for BEN. JOHNSON'S are for 
 the most part regular), there is a more masculine Fancy, 
 and greater Spirit in all the Writing, than there is in any 
 of the French. 
 
 I could produce, even in SHAKESPEARE'S and FLETCHER'S 
 Works, some Plays which are almost exactly formed ; as the 
 Merry Wives of Windsor and the Scornful Lady. But because, 
 generally speaking, SHAKESPEARE, who writ first, did not 
 perfectly observe the laws of Comedy ; and FLETCHER, who 
 came nearer to perfection [in this respect], yet, through care- 
 lessness, made many faults : I will take the pattern of a per- 
 fect Play from BEN JOHNSON, who was a careful and learned
 
 CHARACTERS, & WRITING, THAN THE FRENCH. 85 
 
 observer of the Dramatic Laws ; and, from all his Comedies, 
 I shall select the Silent Woman [p. 597], of which I will make 
 a short examen [examination], according to those Rules which 
 the French observe." 
 
 As N BANDER was beginning to examine the Silent Woman : 
 EUGENIUS, looking earnestly upon him, "I beseech you, 
 NEANDER! " said he, "gratify the company, and me in 
 particular, so far, as, before you speak of the Play, to give us 
 a Character of the Author : and tell us, frankly, your opinion ! 
 whether you do not think all writers, both French and 
 English, ought to give place to him ? " 
 
 FEAR," replied NEANDER, " that in obeying your 
 commands, I shall draw a little envy upon my- 
 self. Besides, in performing them, it will be first 
 necessary to speak somewhat of SHAKESPEARE 
 and FLETCHER his Rivals in Poesy; and one of them, in 
 my opinion, at least his Equal, perhaps his Superior. 
 
 To begin then with SHAKESPEARE. He was the man, who, 
 of all Modern and perhaps Ancient poets, had the largest and 
 most comprehensive Soul [/>. 540]. All the Images of 
 Nature [pp. 528, 533] were still present [apparent] to him 
 [p. 489] : and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily 
 [felicitously]. When he describes anything ; you more than 
 see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted 
 learning; give him the greater commendation. He was natur- 
 ally learned. He needed not the spectacles of books, to read 
 Nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. I cannot 
 say, he is everywhere alike. Were he so ; I should do him 
 injury to compare him [even] with the greatest of mankind. 
 He is many times flat, insipid : his comic wit degenerating 
 into clenches ; his serious swelling, into bombast. 
 
 But he is always great, when some great occasion is pre- 
 sented to him. No man can say, he ever had a fit subject 
 for his wit, and did not then raise himself as high above the 
 rest of poets, 
 
 Quantum lenta solent, inter viberna cupressi. 
 
 The consideration of this, made Mr. HALES, of Eton, say, 
 ' That there was no subject of which any poet ever writ ; but 
 he would produce it much better treated of in SHAKESPEARE.'
 
 86 NEANDER BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER'S 
 
 And however others are, now, generally preferred before him ; 
 yet the Age wherein he lived (which had contemporaries with 
 him, FLETCHER and JOHNSON) never equalled them to him, 
 in their esteem. And in the last King's [CHARLES I.] Court, 
 when BEN.'S reputation was at [the] highest; Sir JOHN 
 SUCKLING, and with him, the greater part of the Courtiers, 
 set our SHAKESPEARE far above him. 
 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (of whom I am next to speak), 
 had, with the advantage of SHAKESPEARE'S wit, which was 
 their precedent, great natural gifts improved by study. 
 BEAUMONT, especially, being so accurate a judge of plays, 
 that BEN. JOHNSON, while he [i.e., BEAUMONT] lived, submit- 
 ted all his writings to his censure ; and, 'tis thought, used his 
 judgement in correcting, if not contriving all his plots. What 
 value he had for [i.e. t attached to] him, appears by the verses 
 he writ to him: and therefore I need speak no farther of it. 
 
 The first Play which brought FLETCHER and him in esteem, 
 was their PHILASTER. For, before that, they had written 
 two or three very unsuccessfully : as the like is reported of 
 BEN. JOHNSON, before he writ Every Man in his Humour [acted 
 in 1598]. Their Plots were generally more regular than 
 SHAKESPEARE'S, especially those which were made before 
 BEAUMONT'S death : and they understood, and imitated the 
 conversation of gentlemen [in the conventional sense in which 
 it was understood in DRYDEN'S time], much better [i.e., than 
 SHAKESPEARE] ; whose wild debaucheries, and quickness of 
 wit in repartees, no Poet can ever paint as they have done. 
 
 This Humour, which BEN.JOHNSON derived from particular 
 persons ; they made it not their business to describe. They 
 represented all the passions very lively; but, above all, Love. 
 
 I am apt to believe the English language, in them, arrived 
 to its highest perfection. What words have since been taken 
 in, are rather superfluous than necessary. 
 
 Their Plays are now the most pleasant and frequent en- 
 tertainments of the Stage ; two of theirs being acted through 
 the year, for one of SHAKESPEARE'S or JOHNSON'S. The reason 
 is because there is a certain Gaiety in their Comedies, and 
 Pathos in their more serious Plays, which suit generally with 
 all men's humours. SHAKESPEARE'S Language is likewise a 
 little obsolete; and BEN. JOHNSON'S Wit comes short of theirs.
 
 LANGUAGE, THE PERFECTION OF EN GLISH. 87 
 
 As for JOHNSON, to whose character I am now arrived ; if 
 we look upon him, while he was himself (for his last Plays 
 were but his dotages) I think him the most learned and 
 judicious Writer which any Theatre ever had. He was a 
 most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One cannot 
 say he wanted Wit ; but rather, that he was frugal of it 
 [p. 572]. In his works, you find little to retrench or alter. 
 
 Wit and Language, and Humour also in some measure, 
 we had before him ; but something of Art was wanting to the 
 Drama, till he came. He managed his strength to more advan- 
 tage than any who preceded him. You seldom find him making 
 love in any of his Scenes, or endeavouring to move the pas- 
 sions : his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it grace- 
 fully; especially when he knew, he came after those who had 
 performed both to such a height. Humour was his proper 
 sphere ; and in that, he delighted most to represent mechanic 
 [uncultivated] people. 
 
 He was deeply conversant in the Ancients, both Greek 
 and Latin ; and he borrowed boldly from them. There is 
 scarce a Poet or Historian, among the Roman authors of 
 those times, whom he has not translated in SEJANUS 
 and CATILINE : but he has done his robberies so openly, 
 that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. 
 He invades authors, like a Monarch ; and what would be 
 Theft in other Poets, is only Victory in him. With the spoils 
 of these Writers, he so represents old Rome to us, in its 
 rites, ceremonies, and customs ; that if one of their own poets 
 had written either of his Tragedies, we had seen less of it 
 than in him. 
 
 If there was any fault in his Language, 'twas that he 
 weaved it too closely and laboriously in his serious Plays. 
 Perhaps, too, he did a little too much Romanize our tongue ; 
 leaving the words which he translated, almost as much Latin 
 as he found them : wherein, though he learnedly followed the 
 idiom of their language, he did not enough comply with ours. 
 
 If I would compare him with SHAKESPEARE, I must acknow- 
 ledge him, the more correct Poet ; but SHAKESPEARE, the 
 greater Wit. SHAKESPEARE was the HOMER, or Father of 
 our Dramatic Poets ; JOHNSON was the VIRGIL, the pattern 
 of elaborate writing. I admire him ; but I love SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 To conclude of him. As he has given us the most correct
 
 88 NEANDER DISCUSSION OF BEN. JONSON'S 
 
 Plays ; so in the Precepts which he has laid down in his 
 Discoveries, we have as many and profitable Rules as any 
 wherewith the French can furnish us. 
 
 Having thus spoken of this author ; I proceed to the ex- 
 amination of his Comedy, the Silent Woman. 
 
 Rxamen of the "Silent 
 
 JO begin, first, with the Length of the Action. It is 
 so far from exceeding the compass of a natural day, 
 that it takes not up an artificial one. 'Tis all in- 
 cluded in the limits of three hours and a half; which 
 is no more than is required for the presentment [represen- 
 tation of it] on the Stage. A beauty, perhaps, not much 
 observed. If it had [been] ; we should not have looked upon 
 the Spanish Translation [i.e., the adaptation from the Spanish] 
 of Five Hours [pp. 533, 541], with so much wonder. 
 
 The Scene of it is laid in London. The Latitude of 
 Place is almost as little as you can imagine : for it lies all 
 within the compass of two houses ; and, after the First Act, 
 in one. 
 
 The Continuity of Scenes is observed more than in any of 
 our Plays, excepting his own Fox and Alchemist. They are 
 not broken above twice, or thrice at the most, in the whole 
 Comedy : and in the two best of CORNEILLE'S Plays, the CID 
 and ClNNA, they are interrupted once a piece. 
 
 The Action of the Play is entirely One : the end or aim of 
 which, is the settling MOROSE'S estate on DAUPHINS. 
 
 The Intrigue of it is the greatest and most noble of any 
 pure unmixed Comedy in any language. You see in it, 
 many persons of various Characters and Humours ; and all 
 delightful. 
 
 As first, MOROSE, an old man, to whom all noise, but his 
 own talking, is offensive. Some, who would be thought 
 critics, say, " This humour of his is forced." But, to remove 
 that objection, we may consider him, first, to be naturally of 
 a delicate hearing, as many are, to whom all sharp sounds 
 are unpleasant : and, secondly, we may attribute much of it 
 to the peevishness of his age, or the wayward authority of an
 
 EPICENE, AS THE PATTERN OF A PERFECT PLAY. 89 
 
 old man in his own house, where he may make himselt 
 obeyed ; and this the Poet seems to allude to, in his name 
 MOROSE. Besides this, I am assured from divers persons, 
 that BEN JOHNSON was actually acquainted with such a man, 
 one altogether as ridiculous as he is here represented. 
 
 Others say, ' It is not enough, to find one man of such an 
 humour. It must be common to more ; and the more 
 common, the more natural.' To prove this, they instance 
 in the best of comical characters, FALSTAFF. There are many 
 men resembling him ; Old, Fat, Merry, Cowardly, Drunken, 
 Amorous, Vain, and Lying. But to convince these people ; 
 I need but [to] tell them, that Humour is the ridiculous 
 extravagance of conversation, wherein one man differs from all 
 others. If then it be common, or communicated to any ; how 
 differs it from other men's ? or what indeed causes it to be 
 ridiculous, so much as the singularity of it. As for FALSTAFF, 
 he is not properly one Humour ; but a Miscellany of Humours 
 or Images drawn from so many several men. That wherein 
 he is singular is his Wit, or those things he says, prater ex- 
 pectatum, 'unexpected by the audience'; his quick evasions, 
 when you imagine him surprised : which, as they are extre- 
 mely diverting of themselves, so receive a great addition 
 from his person ; for the very sight of such an unwieldy old 
 debauched fellow is a Comedy alone. 
 
 And here, having a place so proper for it, I cannot but 
 enlarge somewhat upon this subject of Humour, into which 
 I am fallen. 
 
 The Ancients had little of it in their Comedies : for the TO 
 rye\olov [facetious absurdities] of the Old Comedy, of which 
 ARISTOPHANES was chief, was not so much to imitate a man ; 
 as to make the people laugh at some odd conceit, which had 
 commonly somewhat of unnatural or obscene in it. Thus, 
 when you see SOCRATES brought upon the Stage, you are not 
 to imagine him made ridiculous by the imitation of his 
 actions : but rather, by making him perform something very 
 unlike himself; something so childish and absurd, as, by 
 comparing it with the gravity of the true SOCRATES, makes a 
 ridiculous object for the spectators. 
 
 In the New Comedy which succeeded, the Poets sought, 
 indeed, to express the ^09 [manners and habits] ; as in their
 
 90 NEANDER DEFINITION OF HUMOUR, [ J> 
 
 Tragedies, the irdBos [sufferings] of mankind. But this %0o<i con- 
 tained only the general characters of men and manners; as [of] 
 Old Men, Lovers, Servingmen,Courtizans, Parasites, and such 
 other persons as we see in their Comedies. All which, they 
 made alike: that is, one Old Man or Father, one Lover, one 
 Courtizan so like another, as if the first of them had begot 
 the rest of every [each] sort. Ex homine hunc natum dicas. 
 The same custom they observed likewise in their Tragedies. 
 As for the French. Though they have the word humeur 
 among them : yet they have small use of it in their Comedies 
 or Farces : they being but ill imitations of the ridiculum or 
 that which stirred up laughter in the Old Comedy. But 
 among the English, 'tis otherwise. Where, by Humour is 
 meant some extravagant habit, passion, or affection, particular, as 
 I said before, to some one person, by the oddness of which, he is 
 immediately distinguished from the rest of men : which, being 
 lively and naturally represented, most frequently begets 
 that malicious pleasure in the audience, which is testified 
 by laughter : as all things which are deviations from com- 
 mon customs, are ever the aptest to produce it. Though, 
 by the way, this Laughter is only accidental, as the person re- 
 presented is fantastic or bizarre; but Pleasure is essential to 
 it, as the Imitation of what is natural. This description of 
 these Humours,* drawn from the knowledge and observation 
 of particular persons, was the peculiar genius and talent of 
 BEN. JOHNSON. To whose Play, I now return. 
 
 Besides MOROSE, there are, at least, nine or ten different 
 Characters and Humours in the Silent Woman : all which 
 persons have several concernments of their own ; yet are all 
 used by the Poet to the conducting of the main Design to 
 perfection. 
 
 I shall not waste time in commending the Writing of this 
 Play: but I will give you my opinion, that there is more Wit 
 and Acuteness of Fancy in it, than in any of BEN.JOHNSON'S. 
 Besides that, he has here described the conversation of gentle- 
 men, in the persons of TRUE WIT and his friends, with more 
 gaiety, air, and freedom than in the rest of his Comedies. 
 
 For the Contrivance of the Plot: 'tis extreme[ly] elaborate; 
 
 * Compare DRYDEN'S definition of Humour, with that of Lord MACAU- 
 LAY, in his review of Diary and Letters of Madame DARBLA Y (Edinburgh 
 Review, Jan. 1843). E. A. 1880.
 
 WHI CH IS PECULIAR TO ENGLISH COMEDY. 91 
 
 and yet, withal, easy. For the Seo-i?, or Untying of it : 'tis so 
 admirable, that, when it is done, no one of the audience would 
 think the Poet could have missed it ; and yet, it was con- 
 cealed so much before the last Scene, that any other way 
 would sooner have entered into your thoughts. 
 
 But I dare not take upon me, to commend the Fabric of 
 it ; because it is altogether so full of Art, that I must unravel 
 every Scene in it, to commend it as I ought. And this 
 excellent contrivance is still the more to be admired ; because 
 'tis [a] Comedy where the persons are only of common rank; 
 and their business, private ; not elevated by passions or high 
 concernments as in serious Plays. Here, every one is a 
 proper judge of what he sees. Nothing is represented but 
 that with which he daily converses : so that, by consequence, 
 all faults lie open to discovery ; and few are pardonable. 
 "Tis this, which HORACE has judiciously observed 
 
 Creditur ex medio quia res arcessit habere 
 Sudoris minimum, sed habet Comedia tanto 
 Plus oneris, quanta Venice minus. 
 
 But our Poet, who was not ignorant of these difficulties, had 
 prevailed [ 1 availed] himself of all advantages ; as he who 
 designs a large leap, takes his rise from the highest ground. 
 
 One of these Advantages is that, which CORNEILLE has 
 laid down as the greatest which can arrive [happen] to any 
 Poem ; and which he, himself, could never compass, above 
 thrice, in all his plays, viz., the making choice of some signal 
 and long expected day ; whereon the action of the Play is to de- 
 pend. This day was that designed by DAUPHINE, for the 
 settling of his uncle's estate upon him : which to compass, 
 he contrives to marry him. That the marriage had been 
 plotted by him, long beforehand, is made evident, by what 
 he tells TRUE WIT, in the Second Act, that 'in one moment, 
 he [TRUE WIT] had destroyed what he had been raising 
 many months.' 
 
 There is another artifice of the Poet, which I cannot here 
 omit ; because, by the frequent practice of it in his Comedies, 
 he has left it to us, almost as a Rule : that is, when he has 
 any Character or Humour, wherein he would show a coup de 
 maitre or his highest skill ; he recommends it to your observation 
 by a pleasant description of it, before the person first appears.
 
 92 NEANDER OTHER BEAUTIES IN THE EPICENE^- * 
 
 Thus, in Bartholomew Fair, he gives you the pictures 01 
 NUMPS and COKES-, and in this, those of DAW, LAFOOLE, 
 MOROSE, and the Collegiate Ladies : all which you hear 
 described, before you, see them. So that, before they come 
 upon the Stage, you have a longing expectation of them ; 
 which prepares you to receive them favourably : and when 
 they are there, even from their first appearance, you are so 
 far acquainted with them, that nothing of their humour is 
 lost to you. 
 
 I will observe yet one thing further of this admirable Plot. 
 The business of it rises in every Act. The Second is greater 
 than the First ; the Third, than the Second : and so forward, 
 to the Fifth. There, too, you see, till the very last Scene, 
 new difficulties arising to obstruct the Action of the Play : 
 and when the audience is brought into despair that the 
 business can naturally be effected ; then, and not before, the 
 Discovery is made. 
 
 But that the Poet might entertain you with more variety, 
 all this while ; he reserves some new Characters to show 
 you, which he opens not till the Second and Third Acts. In 
 the Second, MOROSE, DAW, the Barber, and OTTER ; in the 
 Third, the Collegiate Ladies. All which, he moves, afterwards, 
 in by- walks or under- plots, as diversions to the main Design, 
 least it grow tedious : though they are still naturally joined 
 with it ; and, somewhere or other, subservient to it. Thus, 
 like a skilful chess player, by little and little, he draws out his 
 men ; and makes his pawns of use to his greater persons. 
 
 If this Comedy and some others of his, were translated 
 into French prose (which would now be no wonder to them, 
 since MOLIERE has lately given them Plays out of Verse; 
 which have not displeased them), I believe the controversy 
 would soon be decided betwixt the two nations : even making 
 them, the judges. 
 
 But we need not call our heroes to our aid. Be it spoken 
 to the honour of the English ! our nation can never want, 
 in any age, such, who are able to dispute the Empire of Wit 
 with any people in the universe. And though the fury of a 
 Civil War, and power (for twenty years together [1640-1660 
 A.D.]) abandoned to a barbarous race of men, enemies of all
 
 J ' b i66t-7.']N EANDER WE CAN WIN THE E MPIRE OF WlT. 93 
 
 good learning,* had buried the Muses under the ruins of 
 Monarchy: yet, with the Restoration of our happiness [1660], 
 we see revived Poesy lifting up its head, and already shaking 
 off the rubbish, which lay so heavy upon it. 
 
 We have seen, since His Majesty's return, many 
 Dramatic Poems which yield not to those of any foreign 
 nation, and which deserve all laurels but the English. I 
 will set aside flattery and envy. It cannot be denied but we 
 have had some little blemish, either in the Plot or Writing 
 of all those plays which have been made within these seven 
 years ; and, perhaps, there is no nation in the world so quick 
 to discern them, or so difficult to pardon them, as ours : yet, 
 if we can persuade ourselves to use the candour of that Poet 
 [HORACE], who, though the most severe of critics, has left us 
 this caution, by which to moderate our censures. 
 
 Ubi plura nitent in carmine non ego paucis offendar maculis. 
 
 If, in consideration of their many and great beauties, we can 
 wink at some slight and little imperfections ; if we, I say, can 
 be thus equal to ourselves : I ask no favour from the French. 
 
 And if I do not venture upon any particular judgement of 
 our late Plays : 'tis out of the consideration which an ancient 
 writer gives me. Vivorum, ut magnet, admiratio ita censura 
 difficilis ; ' betwixt the extremes of admiration and malice, 
 'tis hard to judge uprightly of the living.' Only, I think it 
 may be permitted me to say, that as it is no lessening to us, 
 to yield to some Plays (and those not many) of our nation, 
 in the last Age : so can it be no addition, to pronounce of 
 our present Poets, that they have far surpassed all the Ancients, 
 and the Modern Writers of other countries." 
 
 This, my Lord ! [i.e., the Dedicatee, the Lord BUCKHURST, 
 P' 503] was the substance of what was then spoke, on that 
 occasion : and LISIDEIUS, I think, was going to reply ; when 
 he was prevented thus by CRITES. 
 
 AM confident," said he, " the most material things 
 that can be said, have been already urged, on 
 either side. If they have not ; I must beg of 
 LISIDEIUS, that he will defer his answer till 
 
 * Glorious JOHN DRYDEN ! thee liest ! CROMWELL and his Court 
 were no " enemies of all good learning," though they utterly rejected the 
 Dramatic branch of it. E. A. 1880.
 
 94 CRITES OPENS THE THIRD ARGUMENT, [ J - D ,^; 
 
 another time. For I confess I have a joint quarrel to 
 you both: because you have concluded [pp. 539, 548], 
 without any reason given for it, that Rhyme is proper for 
 the Stage. 
 
 I will not dispute how ancient it hath been among us to 
 write this way. Perhaps our ancestors knew no better, till 
 SHAKESPEARE'S time. I will grant, it was not altogether 
 left by him ; and that FLETCHER and BEN. JOHNSON used it 
 frequently in their Pastorals, and sometimes in other Plays. 
 
 Farther; I will not argue, whether we received it origin- 
 ally from our own countrymen, or from the French. For 
 that is an inquiry of as little benefit as theirs, who, in the 
 midst of the Great Plague [1665], were not so solicitous to 
 provide against it ; as to know whether we had it from the 
 malignity of our own air, or by transportation from Holland. 
 
 I have therefore only to affirm that it is not allowable in 
 serious Plays. For Comedies. I find you are already con- 
 cluding with me. 
 
 To prove this, I might satisfy myself to tell you, how 
 much in vain it is, for you, to strive against the stream of the 
 People's inclination/ the greatest part of whom, are pre- 
 possessed so much with those excellent plays of SHAKES- 
 PEARE, FLETCHER, and BEN. JOHNSON, which have been 
 written out of Rhyme, that (except you could bring them 
 such as were written better in it ; and those, too, by persons 
 of equal reputation with them) it will be impossible for you 
 to gain your cause with them : who will (still) be judges. 
 This it is to which, in fine, all your reasons must submit. 
 The unanimous consent of an audience is so powerful, that 
 even JULIUS CAESAR (as MACROBIUS reports of him), when he, 
 was Perpetual Dictator, was not able to balance it, on the 
 other side : but when LABERIUS, a Roman knight, at his 
 request, contended in the Mime with another poet ; he was 
 forced to cry out, Etiamfavente me victus es Liberi. 
 
 But I will not, on this occasion, take the advantage of the 
 greater number ; but only urge such reasons against Rhyme, 
 as I find in the writings of those who have argued for the 
 other way. 
 
 First, then, I am of opinion, that Rhyme is unnatural in 
 a Play, because Dialogue, there, is presented as the effect of 
 sudden thought. For a Play is the Imitation of Nature : and
 
 SAYS R HYME IS NOT FIT FOR TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 since no man, without premeditation, speaks in rhyme; 
 neither ought he to do it on the Stage. This hinders not but 
 the Fancy may be, there, elevated to a higher pitch of 
 thought than it is in ordinary discourse; for there is a 
 probability that men of excellent and quick parts, may speak 
 noble things ex tempore : but those thoughts are never fettered 
 with the numbers and sound of Verse, without study ; and 
 therefore it cannot be but unnatural, to present the most free 
 way of speaking, in that which is the most constrained. 
 
 1 For this reason,' says ARISTOTLE, ' 'tis best, to write 
 Tragedy in that kind of Verse, which is the least such, or 
 which is nearest Prose' : and this, among the Ancients, was 
 the Iambic ; and with us, is Blank Verse, or the Measure of 
 Verse kept exactly, without rhyme. These numbers, therefore, 
 are fittest for a Play : the others [i.e., Rhymed Verse] for a 
 paper of Verses, or a Poem [p. 566]. Blank Verse being as much 
 below them, as Rhyme is improper for the Drama : and, if 
 it be objected that neither are Blank Verses made extempore ; 
 yet, as nearest Nature, they are still to be preferred. 
 
 But there are two particular exceptions [objections] , which 
 many, beside myself, have had to Verse [i.e., in rhyme] ; by 
 which it will appear yet more plainly, how improper it is 
 in Plays. And the first of them is grounded upon that very 
 reason, for which some have commended Rhyme. They 
 say, 'The quickness of Repartees in argumentative scenes, 
 receives an ornament from Verse [pp. 492, 498].' Now, 
 what is more unreasonable than to imagine that a man should not 
 only light upon the Wit, but the Rhyme too ; upon the sudden ? 
 This nicking of him, who spoke before, both in Sound and 
 Measure, is so great a happiness [felicity], that you must, at 
 least, suppose the persons of your Play to be poets, Arcades 
 omnes et cantare pares et respondere parati. They must have 
 arrived to the degree of quicquid conabar dicere, to make 
 verses, almost whether they will or not. 
 
 If they are anything below this, it will look rather like 
 the design of two, than the answer of one. It will appear 
 that your Actors hold intelligence together ; that they per- 
 form their tricks, like fortune tellers, by confederacy. The 
 hand of Art will be too visible in it, against that maxim of 
 all professions, A rs est celare artem ; 'that it is the greatest 
 perfection of Art, to keep itself undiscovered.'
 
 96 CRITES RHYME CANNOT EXPRESS GREAT [ J - 
 
 Nor will it serve you to object, that however you manage 
 it, 'tis still known to be a Play ; and consequently the dia- 
 logue of two persons, understood to be the labour of one 
 Poet. For a Play is still an Imitation of Nature. We know 
 we are to be deceived, and we desire to be so : but no man 
 ever was deceived, but with a probability of Truth ; for who 
 will suffer a gross lie to be fastened upon him ? Thus, we 
 sufficiently understand that the scenes [i.e., the scenery which 
 was just now coming into use on the English Stage], which 
 represent cities and countries to us, are not really such, but 
 only painted on boards and canvas. But shall that excuse 
 the ill painture [painting] or designment of them ? Nay 
 rather, ought they not to be laboured with so much the more 
 diligence and exactness, to help the Imagination ? since the 
 Mind of Man doth naturally bend to, and seek after Truth ; 
 and therefore the nearer anything comes to the Imitation of 
 it, the more it pleases. 
 
 Thus, you see ! your Rhyme is incapable of expressing 
 the greatest thoughts, naturally ; and the lowest, it cannot, 
 with any grace. For what is more unbefitting the majesty 
 of Verse, than ' to call a servant,' or ' bid a door be shut ' 
 in Rhyme ? And yet, this miserable necessity you are forced 
 upon! 
 
 ' But Verse,' you say, ' circumscribes a quick and luxuriant 
 Fancy, which would extend itself too far, on every subject; did 
 not the labour which is required to well-turned and polished 
 Rhyme, set bounds to it [pp. 492-493].' Yet this argument, 
 if granted, would only prove, that we may write better in Verse, 
 but not more naturally. 
 
 Neither is it able to evince that. For he who wants 
 judgement to confine his Fancy, in Blank Verse ; may want 
 it as well, in Rhyme : and he who has it, will avoid errors in 
 both kinds [pp. 498, 571]. Latin Verse was as great a con- 
 finement to the imagination of those poets, as Rhyme to ours: 
 and yet, you find OVID saying too much on every subject. 
 
 Nescivit, says SENECA, quod bene cessit relinquere : of which 
 he [OviD] gives you one famous instance in his description of 
 the Deluge.
 
 THOUGHTS NATURALLY J OR LOW ONES, WELL. 97 
 
 Omnia pontus erat, deerant quoque litom ponto. 
 Now all was sea; nor had that sea a shore. 
 
 Thus OVID'S Fancy was not limited by Verse ; and VIRGIL 
 needed not Verse to have bounded his. 
 
 In our own language, we see BEN. JOHNSON confining him- 
 self to what ought to be said, even in the liberty of Blank 
 Verse ; and yet CORNEILLE, the most judicious of the French 
 poets, is still varying the same Sense a hundred ways, and 
 dwelling eternally upon the same subject, though confined by 
 Rhyme. 
 
 Some other exceptions, I have to Verse ; but these I have 
 named, being, for the most part, already public : I conceive 
 it reasonable they should, first, be answered." 
 
 |T CONCERNS me less than any," said NEANDER, 
 seeing he had ended, " to reply to this discourse, 
 because when I should have proved that Verse 
 may be natural in Plays ; yet I should always be 
 ready to confess that those which I [i.e., DRYDEN, see pp. 503, 
 566] have written in this kind, come short of that perfection 
 which is required. Yet since you are pleased I should under- 
 take this province, I will do it : though, with all imaginable 
 respect and deference both to that Person [i.e., SIR ROBERT 
 HOWARD, see p. 494] from whom you have borrowed your 
 strongest arguments; and to whose judgement, when I have 
 said all, I finally submit. 
 
 But before I proceed to answer your objections ; I must 
 first remember you, that I exclude all Comedy from my 
 defence ; and next, that I deny not but Blank Verse may be 
 also used : and content myself only to assert that in serious 
 Plays, where the Subject and Characters are great, and the 
 Plot unmixed with mirth (which might allay or divert these 
 concernments which are produced), Rhyme is there, as natural, 
 and more effectual than Blank Verse. 
 
 And now having laid down this as a foundation : to begin 
 with CRITES, I must crave leave to tell him, that some of his 
 arguments against Rhyme, reach no farther that from the 
 faults or defects of ill Rhyme to conclude against the use of it in 
 
 G 7
 
 98 NEANDER CONFESSES RHYME is UNFIT FOR [ J> ^^ 
 
 general [p. 598]. May not I conclude against Blank Verse, by 
 the same reason ? If the words of some Poets, who write in 
 it, are either ill-chosen or ill-placed ; which makes not only 
 Rhyme, but all kinds of Verse, in any language, unnatural: 
 shall I, for their virtuous affectation, condemn those excellent 
 lines of FLETCHER, which are written in that kind ? Is there 
 anything in Rhyme more constrained, than this line in Blank 
 Verse ? 
 
 I, heaven invoke! and strong resistance make. 
 
 Where you see both the clauses are placed unnaturally ; that 
 is, contrary to the common way of speaking, and that, with- 
 out the excuse of a rhyme to cause it : yet you would think 
 me very ridiculous, if I should accuse the stubbornness of 
 Blank Verse for this ; and not rather, the stiffness of the 
 Poet. Therefore, C RITES ! you must either prove that words, 
 though well chosen and duly placed, yet render not Rhyme natural 
 in itself; or that, however natural and easy the Rhyme may be, 
 yet it is not proper for a Play. 
 
 If you insist on the former part ; I would ask you what 
 other conditions are required to make Rhyme natural in 
 itself, besides an election of apt words, and a right disposing 
 of them ? For the due choice of your words expresses your 
 Sense naturally, and the due placing them adapts the Rhyme 
 to it. 
 
 If you object that one verse may be made for the sake of 
 another, though both the words and rhyme be apt, I answer it 
 cannot possibly so fall out. For either there is a dependence 
 of sense betwixt the first line and the second ; or there is 
 none. If there be that connection, then, in the natural 
 position of the words, the latter line must, of necessity, flow 
 from the former : if there be no dependence, yet, still, the due 
 ordering of words makes the last line as natural in itself as 
 the other. So that the necessity of a rhyme never forces 
 any but bad or lazy writers, to say what they would not 
 otherwise. 
 
 "Tis true, there is both care and art required to write in 
 Verse. A good Poet never concludes upon the first line, till 
 he has sought out such a rhyme as may fit the Sense already 
 prepared, to heighten the second. Many times, the Close of 
 the Sense falls into the middle of the next verse, or farther
 
 J ' D i66s^l COMEDY; BUT is FIT FOR TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 off: and he may often prevail [avail] himself of the same 
 advantages in English, which VIRGIL had in Latin ; he may 
 break off in the hemistich, and begin another line. 
 
 Indeed, the not observing these two last things, makes 
 Plays that are writ in Verse so tedious : for though, most 
 commonly, the Sense is to be confined to the Couplet ; yet, 
 nothing that does perpetuo tenore fluere, ' run in the same 
 channel,' can please always. 'Tis like the murmuring of a 
 stream : which, not varying in the fall, causes at first atten- 
 tion ; at last, drowsiness. VARIETY OF CADENCES 
 is the best Rule ; the greatest help to the Actors, and refresh- 
 ment to the Audience. 
 
 If, then, Verse may be made natural in itself; how becomes 
 it improper to a Play ? You say, ' The Stage is the Repre- 
 sentation of Nature, and no man, in ordinary conversation, 
 speaks in Rhyme ' : but you foresaw, when you said this, 
 that it might be answered, ' Neither does any man speak in 
 Blank Verse, or in measure without Rhyme ! ' therefore you 
 concluded, ' That which is nearest Nature is still to be pre- 
 ferred.' But you took no notice that Rhyme might be made 
 as natural as Blank Verse, by the well placing of the words, 
 &c. All the difference between them, when they are both 
 correct, is the sound in one, which the other wants : and if 
 so, the sweetness of it, and all the advantages resulting from 
 it which are handled in the Preface to the Rival Ladies [pp. 
 487-493], will yet stand good. 
 
 As for that place of ARISTOTLE, where he says, 'Plays 
 should be writ in that kind of Verse which is nearest Prose' : 
 it makes little for you, Blank Verse being, properly, but 
 Measured Prose. 
 
 Now Measure, alone, in any modern language, does not 
 constitute Verse. Those of the Ancients, in Greek and 
 Latin, consisted in Quantity of Words, and a determinate 
 number of Feet. But when, by the inundations of the Goths 
 and Vandals, into Italy, new languages were brought in, and 
 barbarously mingled with the Latin, of which, the Italian, 
 Spanish, French, and ours (made out of them, and the 
 Teutonic) are dialects : a New Way of Poesy was practised, 
 new, I say, in those countries ; for, in all probability, it 
 was that of the conquerors in their own nations. The New 
 Way consisted of Measure or Number of Feet, and Rhyme.
 
 ioo NEANDER THE ROMANCE NATIONS AND [ J - 
 
 The sweetness of Rhyme and observation of Accent, supply- 
 ing the place of Quantity in Words : which could neither 
 exactly be observed by those Barbarians who knew not the 
 Rules of it ; neither was it suitable to their tongues, as it had 
 been to the Greek and Latin. 
 
 No man is tied in Modern Poesy, to observe any farther 
 Rules in the Feet of his Verse, but that they be dissyllables 
 (whether Spondee, Trochee, or Iambic, it matters not) ; only 
 he is obliged to Rhyme. Neither do the Spanish, French, 
 Italians, or Germans acknowledge at all, or very rarely, any 
 such kind of Poesy as Blank Verse among them. There- 
 fore, at most, 'tis but a Poetic Prose, a sermo pedestris ; and, 
 as such, most fit for Comedies: where I acknowledge Rhyme 
 to be improper. 
 
 Farther, as to that quotation of ARISTOTLE, our Couplet 
 Verses may be rendered as near Prose, as Blank Verse itself; 
 by using those advantages I lately named, as Breaks in the 
 Hemistich, or Running the Sense into another line: thereby, 
 making Art and Order appear as loose and free as Nature. 
 Or, not tying ourselves to Couplets strictly, we may use the 
 benefit of the Pindaric way, practised in the Siege of Rhodes ; 
 where the numbers vary, and the rhyme is disposed carelessly, 
 and far from often chiming. 
 
 Neither is that other advantage of the Ancients to be de- 
 spised, of changing the Kind of Verse, when they please, with 
 the change of the Scene, or some new Entrance. For they con- 
 fine not themselves always to Iambics; but extend their liberty 
 to all Lyric Numbers; and sometimes, even, to Hexameter. 
 
 But I need not go so far, to prove that Rhyme, as it suc- 
 ceeds to all other offices of Greek and Latin Verse, so 
 especially to this of Plays ; since the custom of all nations, at 
 this day, confirms it. All the French, Italian, and Spanish 
 Tragedies are generally writ in it ; and, sure[ly], the Universal 
 Consent of the most civilised parts of the world ought in this, 
 as it doth in other customs, [to] include the rest. 
 
 But perhaps, you may tell me, I have proposed such a way 
 to make Rhyme natural ; and, consequently, proper to Plays, 
 as is impracticable ; and that I shall scarce find six or eight 
 lines together in a Play, where the words are so placed and 
 chosen, as is required to make it natural.
 
 J ' ^66 d : THE GERMANS HAVE NO BLANK VERSE. 101 
 
 I answer, no Poet need constrain himself, at all times, to 
 it. It is enough, he makes it his general rule. For I deny 
 not but sometimes there may be a greatness in placing the 
 words otherwise; and sometimes they may sound better. 
 Sometimes also, the variety itself is excuse enough. But if, 
 for the most part, the words be placed, as they are in the 
 negligence of Prose ; it is sufficient to denominate the way 
 practicable : for we esteem that to be such, which, in the trial, 
 oftener succeeds than misses. And thus far, you may find 
 the practice made good in many Plays : where, you do not 
 remember still ! that if you cannot find six natural Rhymes 
 together; it will be as hard for you to produce as many lines 
 in Blank Verse, even among the greatest of our poets, against 
 which I cannot make some reasonable exception. 
 
 And this, Sir, calls to my remembrance the beginning of 
 your discourse, where you told us we should never find the 
 audience favourable to this kind of writing, till we could produce 
 as gro-1 plays in Rhyme, as BEN. JOHNSON, FLETCHER, and 
 SHAKESPEARE had writ out of it [p. 558]. But it is to raise envy 
 to the Living, to compare them with the Dead. They are 
 honoured, and almost adored by us, as they deserve ; neither 
 do I know any so presumptuous of themselves, as to contend 
 with them. Yet give me leave to say thus much, without in- 
 jury to their ashes, that not only we shall never equal them ; 
 but they could never equal themselves, were they to rise, and 
 write again. We acknowledge them our Fathers in Wit : 
 but the}' have ruined their estates themselves before they 
 came to their children's hands. There is scarce a Humour, 
 a Character, or any kind of Plot ; which they have not blown 
 upon. All comes sullied or wasted to us : and were they to 
 entertain this Age, they could not make so plenteous treat- 
 ments out of such decayed fortunes. This, therefore, will be 
 a good argument to us, either not to write at all ; or to 
 attempt some other way. There are no Bays to be expected 
 in their walks, Tentanda via est qua me quoque possum tollere 
 humo. 
 
 This way of Writing in Verse, they have only left free to 
 us. Our Age is arrived to a perfection in it, which they 
 never knew : and which (if we may guess by what of theirs 
 we have seen in Verse, as the Faithful Shepherdess and Sad
 
 IO2 N BANDER BLANK VERSE IS TOO LOW FOR [ Jl 
 
 lea. 
 5-7- 
 
 Shepherd) 'tis probable they never could have reached. For 
 the Genius of every Age is different : and though ours excel 
 in this ; I deny not but that to imitate Nature in that perfec- 
 tion which they did in Prose [i.e., Blank Verse] is a greater 
 commendation than to write in Verse exactly. 
 
 As for what you have added, that the people are not generally 
 inclined to like this way : if it were true, it would be no wonder 
 but betwixt the shaking off of an old habit, and the introduc- 
 ing of a new, there should be difficulty. Do we not see them 
 stick to HOPKINS and STERNHOLD'S Psalms ; and forsake 
 those of DAVID, I mean SANDYS his Translation of them ? If, 
 by the people, you understand the Multitude, the ol iro\\ol ; 
 'tis no matter, what they think ! They are sometimes in the 
 right, sometimes in the wrong. Their judgement is a mere 
 lottery. Est ubi plebs recte putat, est ubipeccat. HORACE says it 
 of the Vulgar, judging Poesy. But if you mean, the mixed 
 Audience of the Populace and the Noblesse : I dare 
 confidently affirm, that a great part of the latter sort are 
 already favourable to Verse; and that no serious Plays, writ- 
 ten since the King's return [May 1660], have been more 
 kindly received by them, than the Siege of Rhodes, the 
 MUSTAPHA, the Indian Queen and Indian Emperor. [Seep. 503.] 
 
 But I come now to the Inference of your first argument. 
 You said, ' The dialogue of Plays is presented as the effect of 
 sudden thought ; but no one speaks suddenly or, ex tempore, 
 in Rhyme ' [p. 498] : and your inferred from thence, that 
 Rhyme, which you acknowledge to be proper to Epic Poesy 
 [p. 559], cannot equally be proper to Dramatic; unless we could 
 suppose all men born so much more than poets, that verses should 
 be made in them, not by them. 
 
 It has been formerly urged by you [p. 499] and confessed by 
 me [p. 563] that ' since no man spoke any kind of verse 
 ex tempore; that which was nearest Nature was to be pre- 
 ferred.' I answer you, therefore, by distinguishing betwixt 
 what is nearest to the nature of Comedy : which is the Imi- 
 tation of common persons and Ordinary Speaking: and, what 
 is nearest the nature of a serious Play. This last is, indeed, 
 the Representation of Nature ; but 'tis Nature wrought up to 
 an higher pitch. The Plot, the Characters, the Wit, the 
 Passions, the Descriptions are all exalted above the level of
 
 J ' ^s^l A P EM I HOW MUCH MORE FOR A TRAGEDY ? 1 03 
 
 common converse [conversation], as high as the Imagination 
 of the Poet can carry them, with proportion to verisimility 
 [verisimilitude] . 
 
 Tragedy, we know, is wont to Image to us the minds and 
 fortunes of noble persons : and to pourtray these exactly, 
 Heroic Rhyme is nearest Nature ; as being the noblest kind 
 of Modern Verse. 
 
 Indignatur enim privatis, el prope socco, 
 Dignis carminibus narrari ccena THYESTCB. 
 
 says HORACE. And in another place, 
 
 Effutire leveis indigna tragcedia versus. 
 
 Blank Verse is acknowledged to be too low for a Poem, 
 nay more, for a paper of Verses [pp. 473, 498, 559] ; but if 
 too low for an ordinary Sonnet, how much more for Tragedy ! 
 which is, by ARISTOTLE, in the dispute between the Epic 
 Poesy and the Dramatic, (for many reasons he there alleges) 
 ranked above it. 
 
 But setting this defence aside, your argument is almost as 
 strong against the use of Rhyme in Poems, as in Plays. For 
 the Epic way is everywhere interlaced with Dialogue or Dis- 
 coursive Scenes : and, therefore, you must either grant Rhyme 
 to be improper there, which is contrary to your assertion ; or 
 admit it into Plays, by the same title which you have given 
 it to Poems. 
 
 For though Tragedy be justly preferred above the other, 
 yet there is a great affinity between them ; as may easily be 
 discovered in that Definition of a Play, which LISIDEIUS gave 
 us [p. 513]. The genus of them is the same, A JUST AND 
 LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, IN ITS 
 ACTIONS, PASSIONS, AND TRAVERSES OF 
 FORTUNE: so is the End, namely, FOR THE DE- 
 
 LIGHT AND BENEFIT OF MANKIND. The 
 Characters and Persons are still the same, viz., the greatest 
 of both sorts : only the manner of acquainting us with those 
 actions, passions, and fortunes is different. Tragedy performs 
 it, viva voce, or by Action in Dialogue: wherein it excels the 
 Epic Poem ; which does it, chiefly, by Narration, and there- 
 fore is not so lively an Image of Human Nature. However,
 
 IO4 NEANDER RHYMED REPARTEES ARE NO [ J - 
 
 the agreement betwixt them is such, that if Rhyme be proper 
 for one, it must be for the other. 
 
 Verse, 'tis true, is not 'the effect of Sudden Thought.' 
 But this hinders not, that Sudden Thought may be repre- 
 sented in Verse : since those thoughts are such, as must be 
 higher than Nature can raise them without premeditation, 
 especially, to a continuance of them, even out of Verse : and, 
 consequently, you cannot imagine them, to have been sudden, 
 either in the Poet or the Actors. 
 
 A Play, as I have said, to be like Nature, is to be set above 
 it ; as statues which are placed on high, are made greater 
 than the life, that they may descend to the sight, in their 
 just proportion. 
 
 Perhaps, I have insisted too long upon this objection ; but 
 the clearing of it, will make my stay shorter on the rest. 
 
 You tell us, CRITES ! that * Rhyme is most unnatural in 
 Repartees or Short Replies : when he who answers, it being 
 presumed he knew not what the other would say, yet makes 
 up that part of the Verse which was left incomplete; and sup- 
 plies both the sound and the measure of it. This,' you say, 
 ' looks rather like the Confederacy of two, than the Answer 
 of one.' 
 
 This, I confess, is an objection which is in every one's 
 mouth, who loves not Rhyme ; but suppose, I beseech you ! 
 the Repartee were made only in Blank Verse ; might not 
 part of the same argument be turned against you ? For the 
 measure is as often supplied there, as it is in Rhyme : the 
 latter half of the hemistich as commonly made up, or a 
 second line subjoined as a reply to the former ; which any one 
 leaf in JOHNSON'S Plays will sufficiently make clear to you. 
 
 You will often find in the Greek Tragedians, and in SENECA; 
 that when a Scene grows up into the warmth of Repartees, 
 which is the close fighting of it, the latter part of the trimeter 
 is supplied by him who answers : and yet it was never ob- 
 served as a fault in them, by any of the Ancient or Modern 
 critics. The case is the same in our verse, as it was in theirs: 
 Rhyme to us, being in lieu of Quantity to them. 
 
 But if no latitude is to be allowed a Poet ; you take from 
 him, not only his license of quidlibet audendi : but you tie 
 him up in a straighter compass than you would a Philosopher.
 
 ] MORE A CONFEDERACY THAN A DANCE is. 105 
 
 This is, indeed, Musas colere severiores. You would have him 
 follow Nature, but he must follow her on foot. You have 
 dismounted him from his Pegasus ! 
 
 But you tell us ' this supplying the last half of a verse, or 
 adjoining a whole second to the former, looks more like the 
 Design of two, than the Answer of one [pp. 498, 559].' Suppose 
 we acknowledge it. How comes this Confederacy to be more 
 displeasing to you, than a dance which is well contrived ? 
 You see there, the united Design of many persons to make 
 up one Figure. After they have separated themselves in 
 many petty divisions ; they rejoin, one by one, into the gross. 
 The Confederacy is plain amongst them ; for Chance could 
 never produce anything so beautiful, and yet there is nothing 
 in it that shocks your sight. 
 
 I acknowledge that the hand of Art appears in Repartee, 
 as, of necessity, it must in all kind[s] of Verse. But there is, 
 also, the quick and poignant brevity of it (which is a high 
 Imitation of Nature, in those sudden gusts of passion) to 
 mingle with it : and this joined with the cadency and sweet- 
 ness of the Rhyme, leaves nothing in the Soul of the Hearer to 
 desire. 'Tis an Art which appears ; but it appears only like 
 the shadowings of painture [painting], which, being to cause 
 the rounding of it, cannot be absent : but while that is con- 
 sidered, they are lost. So while we attend to the other 
 beauties of the Matter, the care and labour of the Rhyme is 
 carried from us ; or, at least, drowned in its own sweetness, 
 as bees are some times buried in their honey. 
 
 When a Poet has found the Repartee ; the last perfection 
 he can add to it, is to put it into Verse. However good the 
 Thought may be, however apt the Words in which 'tis 
 couched; yet he finds himself at a little unrest, while Rhyme 
 is wanting. He cannot leave it, till that comes naturally ; 
 and then is at ease, and sits down contented. 
 
 From Replies, which are the most elevated thoughts of 
 Verse, you pass to the most mean ones, those which are 
 common with the lowest of household conversation. In these 
 you say, the majesty of the Verse suffers. You instance in 
 "the calling of a servant" or "commanding a door to be 
 shut " in Rhyme. This, CRITES ! is a good observation of 
 yours ; but no argument. For it proves no more, but that 
 such thoughts should be waved, as often as may be, by the
 
 io6 NEANDER THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE is [ J - 
 
 address of the Poet. But suppose they are necessary in the 
 places where he uses them ; yet there is no need to put them 
 into rhyme. He may place them in the beginning of a verse 
 and break it off, as unfit (when so debased) for any other use: 
 or granting the worst, that they require more room than the 
 hemistich will allow ; yet still, there is a choice to be made 
 of best words and least vulgar (provided they be apt) to 
 express such thoughts. 
 
 Many have blamed Rhyme in general for this fault, when 
 the Poet, with a little care, might have redressed it : but they 
 do it, with no more justice, than if English Poesy should be 
 made ridiculous, for the sake of (JOHN TAYLOR] the Water 
 Poet's rhymes. 
 
 Our language is noble, full, and significant ; and I know 
 not why he who is master of it, may not clothe ordinary things 
 in it, as decently as the Latin ; if he use the same diligence 
 in his choice of words. 
 
 Delectus verborum origo est eloquentice was the saying of 
 JULIUS CAESAR; one so curious in his, that none of them can 
 be changed but for the worse. 
 
 One would think "Unlock the door!" was a thing as 
 vulgar as could be spoken ; and yet SENECA could make it 
 sound high and lofty, in his Latin 
 
 Reserate clusos regii posies Laris. 
 
 But I turn from this exception, both because it happens 
 not above twice or thrice in any Play, that those vulgar 
 thoughts are used : and then too, were there no other apology 
 to be made, yet the necessity of them (which is, alike, in all 
 kind[s] of writing) may excuse them. Besides that, the 
 great eagerness and precipitation with which they are spoken, 
 makes us rather mind the substance than the dress ; that for 
 which they are spoken, rather than what is spoke[n]. For 
 they are always the effect of some hasty concernment ; and 
 something of consequence depends upon them. 
 
 Thus, CRITES ! I have endeavoured to answer your 
 objections. It remains only that I should vindicate an 
 argument for Verse, which you have gone about to overthrow. 
 
 It had formerly been said [p. 492] that, ' The easiness of
 
 J ' D i^'] NOBLE, FULL, AND SIGNIFICANT. IO7 
 
 Blank Verse renders the Poet too luxuriant ; but that the 
 labour of Rhyme bounds and circumscribes an over fruitful 
 fancy : the Sense there being commonly confined to the 
 Couplet ; and the words so ordered that the Rhyme naturally 
 follows them, not they, the Rhyme.' 
 
 To this, you answered, that ' It was no argument to the 
 question in hand : for the dispute was not which way a man 
 may write best ; but which is most proper for the subject on 
 which he writes.' 
 
 First. Give me leave, Sir, to remember you ! that the 
 argument on which you raised this objection was only 
 secondary. It was built upon the hypothesis, that to write 
 in Verse was proper for serious Plays. Which supposition 
 being granted (as it was briefly made out in that discourse, 
 by shewing how Verse might be made natural) : it asserted 
 that this way of writing was a help to the Poet's judgement, 
 by putting bounds to a wild, overflowing Fancy. I think 
 therefore it will not be hard for me to make good what it was 
 to prove. 
 
 But you add, that, ' Were this let pass ; yet he who wants 
 judgement in the liberty of the Fancy, may as well shew the 
 defect of it, when he is confined to Verse : for he who has 
 judgement, will avoid errors ; and he who has it not will 
 commit them in all kinds of writing.' 
 
 This argument, as you have taken it from a most acute 
 person, so I confess it carries much weight in it. But by 
 using the word Judgement here indefinitely, you seem to have 
 put a fallacy upon us. I grant he who has judgement, that 
 is, so profound, so strong, so infallible a judgement that he 
 needs no helps to keep it always poised and upright, will 
 commit no faults ; either in Rhyme, or out of it : and, on the 
 other extreme, he who has a judgement so weak and crazed, 
 that no helps can correct or amend it, shall write scurvily out 
 of Rhyme ; and worse in it. But the first of these Judge- 
 ments, is nowhere to be found ; and the latter is not fit to 
 write at all. 
 
 To speak, therefore, of Judgement as it is in the best Poets; 
 they who have the greatest proportion of it, want other helps 
 than from it within : as, for example, you would be loath to say 
 that he who was endued with a sound judgement, had no need 
 of history, geography, or moral philosophy, to write correctly.
 
 108 CONCLUSIONOFTHE DISCUSSION. [ J ' 
 
 Judgement is, indeed, the Master Workman in a Play ; 
 but he requires many subordinate hands, many tools to his 
 assistance. And Verse, I affirm to be one of these. "Tis a 
 ' Rule and Line ' by which he keeps his building compact and 
 even ; which, otherwise, lawless Imagination would raise, 
 either irregularly or loosely. At least, if the Poet commits 
 errors with this help ; he would make greater and more 
 without it. 'Tis, in short, a slow and painful, but the surest 
 kind of working. 
 
 OVID, whom you accuse [/>.56ij for luxuriancy in Verse, had, 
 perhaps, been farther guilty of it, had he writ in Prose. And 
 for your instance of BEN. JOHNSON [p. 561] ; who, you say, writ 
 exactly, without the help of Rhyme : you are to remember, 
 'tis only an aid to a luxuriant Fancy ; which his was not 
 [p. 551]. As he did not want Imagination ; so, none ever said 
 he had much to spare. Neither was Verse then refined so 
 much, to be a help to that Age as it is to ours. 
 
 Thus then, the second thoughts being usually the best, as 
 receiving the maturest digestion from judgement ; and the 
 last and most mature product of those thoughts, being art- 
 full and laboured Verse : it may well be inferred, that Verse 
 is a great help to a luxuriant Fancy. And this is what that 
 argument, which you opposed, was to evince. 
 
 NEANDER was pursuing this discourse so eagerly that 
 EUGENIUS had called to him twice or thrice, ere he took 
 notice that the barge stood still ; and that they were at the 
 foot of Somerset Stairs, where they had appointed it to land. 
 
 The company were all sorry to separate so soon, though a 
 great part of the evening was already spent : and stood a 
 while, looking back upon the water ; which the moonbeams 
 played upon, and made it appear like floating quicksilver. 
 
 At last, they went up, through a crowd of French people, 
 who were merrily dancing in the open air, and nothing con- 
 cerned for the noise of the guns, which had alarmed the Town 
 that afternoon. 
 
 Walking thence together to the Piazza, they parted there, 
 EUGENIUS and LISIDEIUS, to some pleasant appointment 
 they had made; and CRITES and NEANDER to their several 
 lodgings. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 109 
 
 The Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD, 
 Auditor of the Exchequer. 
 
 Preface to The great 
 Favourite, or the Duke of LERMA. 
 
 [Published in 1668.] 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 CANNOT plead the usual excuse for publishing 
 this trifle, which is commonly the subject of most 
 Prefaces, by charging it upon the importunity of 
 friends ; for I confess I was myself willing, at the 
 first desire of Mr. HERRINGMAN [the Publisher], to 
 print it : not for any great opinion that I had entertained ; 
 but for the opinion that others were pleased to express. 
 Which, being told me by some friends, I was concerned to 
 let the World judge what subject matter of offence was con- 
 tained in it. Some were pleased to believe little of it mine ; 
 but they are both obliging to me, though perhaps not inten- 
 tionally : the last, by thinking there was anything in it that 
 was worth so ill designed an envy, as to place it to another 
 author; the others, perhaps the best bred Informers, by con- 
 tinuing their displeasure towards me, since I most gratefully 
 acknowledge to have received some advantage in the opinion 
 of the sober part of the Werld, by the loss of theirs. 
 
 For the subject, I came accidentally to write upon it. For 
 a gentleman brought a Play to the King's Company, called, 
 The Duke of LERMA ; and, by them, I was desired to peruse 
 it, and return my opinion, " Whether I thought it fit for the 
 Stage ! " After I had read it, I acquainted them that, " In 
 my judgement, it would not be of much use for such a design,
 
 1 10 OCCASION OF WRITING THE GREAT FAVOURITE. .f 
 
 since the Contrivance scarce would merit the name of a 
 Plot ; and some of that, assisted by a disguise : and it ended 
 abruptly. And on the person of PHILIP III., there was fixed 
 such a mean Character; and on the daughter of the Duke 
 of LERMA, such a vicious one : that I could not but judge it 
 unfit to be presented by any that had a respect, not only to 
 Princes, but indeed, to either Man or Woman." 
 
 And, about that time, being to go in the country, I was 
 persuaded by Mr. HART to make it my diversion there, that 
 so great a hint might not be lost, as the Duke of LERMA 
 saving himself, in his last extremity, by his unexpected dis- 
 guise : which is as well in the true Story [history], as the old 
 Play. And besides that and the Names ; my altering the 
 most part of the Characters, and the whole Design, made me 
 uncapable to use much more, though, perhaps, written with 
 higher Style and Thoughts than I could attain to. 
 
 I intend not to trouble myself nor the World any more in 
 such subjects; but take my leave of these my too long ac- 
 quaintances : since that little Fancy and Liberty I once en- 
 joyed, is now fettered in business of more unpleasant natures. 
 Yet, were I free to apply my thoughts, as my own choice 
 directed them ; I should hardly again venture into the Civil 
 Wars of Censures. 
 
 Ubi . . . Nullos habitura triumphos. 
 
 In the next place. I must ingeniously confess that the 
 manner of Plays, which now are in most esteem, is beyond 
 my power to perform [p. 587] ; nor do I condemn, in the least, 
 anything, of what nature soever, that pleases ; since nothing 
 could appear to me a ruder folly, than to censure the satis- 
 faction of others. I rather blame the unnecessary under- 
 derstanding of some, that have laboured to give strict Rules 
 to things that are not mathematical ; and, with such eager- 
 ness, pursuing their own seeming reasons, that, at last, we 
 are to apprehend such Argumentative Poets will grow as 
 strict as SANCHO PANZA'S Doctor was, to our very appetites : 
 for in the difference of Tragedy and Comedy, and of Pars 
 [farce] itself, there can be no determination, but by the 
 taste; nor in the manner of their composure. And, who-
 
 Ho *66:] TRAGEDY, COMEDY, & FARCE NOT DIFFERENT. 1 1 1 
 
 ever would endeavour to like or dislike, by the Rules of 
 others ; he will be as unsuccessful, as if he should try to be 
 persuaded into a power of believing, not what he must, but 
 what others direct him to believe. 
 
 But I confess, 'tis not necessary for Poets to study strict 
 Reason : since they are so used to a greater latitude [pp. 568, 
 588], than is allowed by that severe Inquisition, that they 
 must infringe their own Jurisdiction, to profess themselves 
 obliged to argue well. I will not, therefore, pretend to say, 
 why I writ this Play, some Scenes in Blank Verse, others in 
 Rhyme ; since I have no better a reason to give than Chance, 
 which waited upon my present Fancy : and I expect no 
 better reason from any Ingenious Person, than his Fancy, 
 for which he best relishes. 
 
 I cannot, therefore, but beg leave of the Reader, to take a 
 little notice of the great pains the author of an Essay of Dra- 
 matic Poesy has taken, to prove " Rhyme as natural in a serious 
 Play, and more effectual than Blank Verse" [pp. 561, 581], Thus 
 he states the question, but pursues that which he calls natural, 
 in a wrong application : for 'tis not the question, whether 
 Rhyme or not Rhyme be best or most natural for a grave or 
 serious Subject : but what is nearest the nature of that which 
 it presents. 
 
 Now, after all the endeavours of that Ingenious Person, a 
 Play will still be supposed to be a Composition of several per- 
 sons speaking ex tempore and 'tis as certain, that good verses 
 are the hardest things that can be imagined, to be so spoken 
 [p. 582]. So that if any will be pleased to impose the rule of 
 measuring things to be the best, by being nearest Nature; 
 it is granted, by consequence, that which is most remote from 
 the thing supposed, must needs be most improper : and, there- 
 fore, I may justly say, that both I and the question were 
 equally mistaken. For I do own I had rather read good verses, 
 than either Blank Verse or Prose; and therefore the author 
 did himself injury, if he like Verse so well in Plays, to lay down 
 Rules to raise arguments, only unanswerable against himself. 
 
 But the same author, being filled with the precedents of 
 the Ancients writing their Plays in Verse, commends the 
 thing; and assures us that "our language is noble, full, and 
 significant," charging all defects upon the ill placing of words;
 
 ii2 THE UNITIES, FIGMENTS BASED ON NOTHING. [ Ho ^s: 
 
 and proves it, by quoting SENECA loftily expressing such an 
 ordinary thing, as ," shutting a door." 
 
 Reserate clusos regii posies Laris. 
 
 I suppose he was himself highly affected with the sound of 
 these words. But to have completed his Dictates [injunctions] ; 
 together with his arguments, he should have obliged us by 
 charming our ears with such an art of placing words, as, in an 
 English verse, to express so loftily "the shutting of a door" : 
 that we might have been as much affected with the sound of 
 his words. 
 
 This, instead of being an argument upon the question, 
 rightly stated, is an attempt to prove, that Nothing may seem 
 Something by the help of a verse ; which I easily grant to be 
 the ill fortune of it : and therefore, the question being so much 
 mistaken, I wonder to see that author trouble himself twice 
 about it, with such an absolute Triumph declared by his own 
 imagination. But I have heard that a gentleman in Parlia- 
 ment, going to speak twice, and being interrupted by another 
 member, as against the Orders of the House : he was excused, 
 by a third [member] assuring the House he had not yet 
 spoken to the question. 
 
 But, if we examine the General Rules laid down for Plays 
 by strict Reason ; we shall find the errors equally gross : for 
 the great Foundation that is laid to build upon, is Nothing, 
 as it is generally stated ; which will appear on the examina- 
 tion of the particulars. 
 
 First. We are told the Plot should not be so ridiculously 
 contrived, as to crowd several Countries into one Stage. 
 Secondly, to cramp the accidents of many years or days, into 
 the Representation of two hours and a half. And, lastly, 
 a conclusion drawn that the only remaining dispute, is con- 
 cerning Time ; whether it should be contained in twelve or 
 four and twenty hours ; and the Place to be limited to the 
 spot of ground, either in town or city, where the Play is sup- 
 posed to begin [p. 531]. And this is called nearest to Nature. 
 For that is concluded most natural, which is most probable, 
 and nearest to that which it presents. 
 
 I am so well pleased with any ingenious offers, as all these
 
 H T668.'J THERE ARE NO RULES IN DRAMATIC POESY. 1 1 3 
 
 are, that I should not examine this strictly, did not the con- 
 fidence of others force me to it: there being not anything 
 more unreasonable to my judgement, than the attempts to in- 
 fringe the Liberty of Opinion by Rules so little demonstrative. 
 
 To shew, therefore, upon what ill grounds, they dictate Laws 
 for Dramatic Poesy ; I shall endeavour to make it evident that 
 there's no such thing, as what they All pretend [p. 592]. For, if 
 strictly and duly weighed, 'tis as impossible for one Stage to 
 represent two houses or two rooms truly, as two countries or 
 kingdoms ; and as impossible that five hours or four and 
 twenty hours should be two hours and a half, as that a 
 thousand hours or years should be less than what they are, 
 or the greatest part of time to be comprehended in the less. 
 For all being impossible ; they are none of them nearest the 
 Truth, or nature of what they present. For impossibilities 
 are all equal, and admit no degrees. And, then, if all those 
 Poets that have so fervently laboured to give Rules as 
 Maxims, would but be pleased to abbreviate ; or endure to 
 hear their Reasons reduced into one strict Definition ; it must 
 be, That there are degrees in impossibilities, and that many 
 things, which are not possible, may yet be more or less im- 
 possible ; and from this, proceed to give Rules to observe the 
 least absurdity in things, which are not at all. 
 
 I suppose, I need not trouble the Reader, with so imperti- 
 nent a delay, to attempt a further confutation of such ill 
 grounded Reasons, than, thus, by opening the true state of 
 the case. Nor do I design to make any further use of it, than 
 from hence, to draw this modest conclusion : 
 
 That I would have all attempts of this nature, be submitted 
 to the Fancy of others ; and bear the name of Propositions [p. 
 590], not of confident Laws, or Rules made by demonstration. 
 
 And, then, I shall not discommend any Poet that dresses 
 his Play in such a fashion as his Fancy best approves : and 
 fairly leave it for others to follow, if it appears to them most 
 convenient and fullest of ornament. 
 
 But, writing this Epistle, in much haste ; I had almost 
 forgot one argument or observation, which that author has 
 most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before 
 his Essay of Dramatic Poesy, where, speaking of Rhymes in 
 Plays, he desires it may be observed, " That none are 
 
 H 7
 
 ii4 DRYDEN, A SELF-DECEIVED PERSON![ SirR - Ho 
 
 violent against it ; but such as have not attempted it; or who 
 have succeeded ill in the attempt [pp. 503, 539, 598]," which, 
 as to myself and him, I easily acknowledge : for I confess none 
 has written, in that way, better than himself ; nor few worse 
 than I. Yet, I hope he is so ingenious, that he would not wish 
 this argument should extend further than to him and me. 
 For if it should be received as a good one : all Divines and 
 Philosophers would find a readier way of confutation than 
 they yet have done, of any that should oppose the least 
 Thesis or Definition, by saying, " They were denied by none 
 but such as never attempted to write, or succeeded ill in 
 the attempt." 
 
 Thus, as I am one, that am extremely well pleased with 
 most of the Propositions, which are ingeniously laid down in 
 that Essay, for regulating the Stage : so I am also always 
 concerned for the true honour of Reason, and would have 
 no spurious issue fathered upon her Fancy, may be allowed 
 her wantonness. 
 
 But Reason is always pure and chaste : and, as it re- 
 sembles the sun, in making all things clear ; it also resembles 
 it, in its several positions. When it shines in full height, 
 and directly ascendant over any subject, it leaves but little 
 shadow : but, when descended and grown low, its oblique 
 shining renders the shadow larger than the substance ; and 
 gives the deceived person [i.e., DRYDEN] a wrong measure 
 of his own proportion. 
 
 Thus, begging the Reader's excuse, for this seeming im- 
 pertinency ; I submit what I have written to the liberty of 
 his unconfined opinion : which is all the favour I ask of 
 others, to afford me.
 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 A Defence of An Essay of 
 Dramatic Poesy. 
 
 Being an Answer to the Preface of The great Favourite or 
 the Duke of LERMA. 
 
 [Prefaced to the Second Edition of Tkt 
 Indian Emperor. 1668.] 
 
 [HE former Edition of the Indian Emperor, being 
 full of faults, which had escaped the printer; I 
 have been willing to overlook this Second with 
 more care : and, though I could not allow myself 
 so much time as was necessary, yet, by that 
 little I have done, the press is freed from some gross errors 
 which it had to answer for before. 
 
 As for the more material faults of writing, which are 
 properly mine ; though I see many of them, I want leisure 
 to amend them. ' Tis enough for those, who make one 
 Poem the business of their lives, to leave that correct; yet, 
 excepting VIRGIL, I never met with any which was so, in 
 any language. 
 
 But while I was thus employed about this impression, 
 there came to my hands, a new printed Play, called, The great 
 Favourite, or the Duke of LERMA. The author of which, a 
 noble and most ingenious Person, has done me the favour 
 to make some observations and animadversions upon my 
 Dramatic Essay. 
 
 I must confess he might have better consulted his reputa- 
 tion, than by matching himself with so weak an adversary. 
 But if his honour be diminished in the choice of his an- 
 tagonist, it is sufficiently recompensed in the election of his
 
 n6 BANTERS SIR R. HOWARD DEFENCE &c. [ J - 
 
 cause : which being the weaker, in all appearance (as com- 
 bating the received opinions of the best Ancient and Modern 
 authors), will add to his glory, if he overcome ; and to the 
 opinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, since he 
 engages at so great odds, and so (like a Cavalier) undertakes 
 the protection of the weaker party. 
 
 I have only to fear, on my own behalf, that so good a 
 cause as mine, may not suffer by my ill management or weak 
 defence ; yet I cannot, in honour, but take the glove, when 
 'tis offered me : though I am only a Champion, by succession; 
 and, no more able to defend the right of ARISTOTLE and 
 HORACE, than an infant DYMOCK, to maintain the title of 
 a King. 
 
 For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so 
 small, that I can easily be contented to be driven from a few 
 Notions of Dramatic Poesy, especially by one who has the 
 reputation of understanding all things [!] : and I might justly 
 make that excuse for my yielding to him, which the Philo- 
 sopher made to the Emperor, " Why should I offer to contend 
 with him, who is Master of more than twenty Legions of 
 Arts and Sciences ! " But I am forced to fight, and there- 
 fore it will be no shame to be overcome. 
 
 Yet, I am so much his servant as not to meddle with 
 anything which does not concern me in his Preface. There- 
 fore, I leave the good sense, and other excellencies of the 
 first twenty lines [i.e., of the Preface, see p. 573] to be con- 
 sidered by the critics. 
 
 As for the Play of The Duke of LERMA ; having so much 
 al ered and beautified it, as he has done, it can be justly 
 belong to none but him. Indeed, they must be extreme[ly] 
 ignorant as well as envious, who would rob him of that 
 honour : for you see him putting in his claim to it, even in 
 the first two lines. 
 
 Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back, 
 That slide to hang upon obdurate rocks. 
 
 After this, let Detraction do its worst ! for if this be not
 
 J ' Dry i d 668.] DEFENCE &c. & RETURNS HIS SALUTE. 117 
 
 his, it deserves to be. For my part, I declare for Distributive 
 Justice ! and from this, and what follows, he certainly de- 
 serves those advantages, which he acknowledges, to have received 
 from the opinion of sober men. 
 
 In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great 
 address in courting the Reader to his party. For, intending 
 to assault all Poets both Ancient and Modern, he discovers 
 not his whole Design at once ; but seems only to aim at me, 
 and attack me on my weakest side, my Defence of Verse. 
 
 To begin with me. He gives me the compellation of 
 "The Author of a Dramatic Essay"; which is a little Dis- 
 course in dialogue, for the most part borrowed from the 
 observations of others. Therefore, that I may not be wanting 
 to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling him, 
 " The Author of The Duke of LERMA." 
 
 But, that I may pass over his salute, he takes notice [p. 575] 
 of my great pains to prove " Rhyme as natural in a serious 
 Play; and more effectual that Blank Verse " [/>. 561]. Thus, 
 indeed, I did state the question, but he tells me, I pursue that 
 which I call natural, in a wrong application; for 'tis not the 
 question whether Rhyme or not Rhyme be best or most natural 
 for a serious Subject ; but what is nearest the nature of that it 
 represents. 
 
 If I have formerly mistaken the question ; I must confess 
 my ignorance so far, as to say I continue still in my mistake. 
 But he ought to have proved that I mistook it ; for 'tis yet 
 but gratis dictum. I still shall think I have gained my point, 
 if I can prove that " Rhyme is best or most natural for a 
 serious Subject." 
 
 As for the question, as he states it, " Whether Rhyme be 
 nearest the nature of what it represents"; I wonder he should 
 think me so ridiculous as to dispute whether Prose or Verse 
 be nearest to ordinary conversation ? 
 
 It still remains for him, to prove his Inference, that, Since 
 Verse is granted to be more remote than Prose from ordinary 
 conversation ; therefore no serious Plays ought to be writ in 
 Verse : and when he clearly makes that good, I will ac- 
 knowledge his victory as absolute as he can desire it. 
 
 The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it ?
 
 1 1 8 LITERAL v. POETIC LIKENESS. DEFENCE &c. [ J - Dry I 'J 
 
 len. 
 
 668. 
 
 And if it appear I have not, the World will suspect what gentle- 
 man that was, who was allowed to speak twice in Parliament, 
 because he had not yet spoken to the question [p. 576] : and, per- 
 haps, conclude it to be the same, who (as 'tis reported) 
 maintained a contradiction in terminis, in the face of three 
 hundred persons. 
 
 But to return to Verse. Whether it be natural or not in 
 Plays, is a problem which is not demonstrable, of either side. 
 'Tis enough for me, that he acknowledges that he had rather 
 read good Verse than Prose [/. 575] : for if all the enemies of 
 Verse will confess as much, I shall not need to prove that it is 
 natural. I am satisfied, if it cause Delight ; for Delight is 
 the chief, if not the only end of Poesy. Instruction can be 
 admitted but in the second place ; for Poesy only instructs as 
 it delights. 
 
 'Tis true, that to Imitate Well is a Poet's work : but to 
 affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to 
 move Admiration [wondering astonishment] (which is the 
 Delight of serious Plays), a bare Imitation will not serve. 
 The converse [conversation] therefore, which a Poet is to 
 imitate, must be heightened with all the arts and ornaments of 
 Poesy ; and must be such as, strictly considered, could never 
 be supposed [to be] spoken by any, without premeditation. 
 
 As for what he urges, that, A Play will still be supposed to 
 be a composition of several persons speaking ex tempore ; and that 
 good verses are the hardest things, which can be imagined, to be 
 so spoken [^.575] : I must crave leave to dissent from his 
 opinion, as to the former part of it. For, if I am not deceived, 
 A Play is supposed to be the work of the Poet, imitating or 
 representing the conversation of several persons : and this I 
 think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary. 
 
 But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, 
 though a paradox, that, One great reason why Prose is not 
 to be used in serious Plays is because it is too near the nature 
 of converse [conversation]. There may be too great a likeness. 
 As the most skilful painters affirm there may be too near a 
 resemblance in a picture. To take every lineament and 
 feature is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much 
 only as will make a beautiful resemblance of the whole ; and,
 
 J ' Dr ^668'.] DEFENCE &c. PROSE, BLANK VERSE, RHYME. 1 19 
 
 with an ingenious flattery of Nature, to heighten the beauties 
 of some parts, and hide the deformities of the rest. For so, 
 says HORACE 
 
 Ut pictura Poesis erit 
 
 H&c amat obscurum ; vult hcec sub luce videri, 
 
 Judicis argutum qua non formidat acumen. 
 
 Et qua 
 Desperat, tractata nitescere posse, relinquit. 
 
 In Bartholomew Fair, or the lowest kind of Comedy, that 
 degree of heightening is used which is proper to set off that 
 subject. 'Tis true, the author was not there to go out of 
 Prose, as he does in his higher arguments of Comedy, the 
 Fox and Alchemist; yet he does so raise his matter in that 
 Prose, as to render it delightful : which he could never have 
 performed had he only said or done those very things that 
 are daily spoken or practised in the Fair. For then, the Fair 
 itself would be as full of pleasure to an Ingenious Person, as 
 the Play ; which we manifestly see it is not : but he hath 
 made an excellent Lazar of it. The copy is of price, though 
 the origin be vile. 
 
 You see in CATILINE and SEJANUS ; where the argument 
 is great, he sometimes ascends to Verse, which shews he 
 thought it not unnatural in serious Plays : and had his genius 
 been as proper for Rhyme as it was for Humour, or had the 
 Age in which he lived, attained to as much knowledge in 
 Verse, as ours ; 'tis probable he would have adorned those 
 Subjects with that kind of writing. 
 
 Thus PROSE, though the rightful Prince, yet is, by 
 common consent, deposed ; as too weak for the Government 
 of serious Plays : and he failing, there now start up two 
 competitors! one, the nearer in blood, which is BLANK 
 VERSE; the other, more fit for the ends of Government, 
 which is RHYME. BLANK VERSE is, indeed, the 
 nearer PROSE; but he is blemished with the weakness of 
 his predecessor. RHYME (for I will deal clearly !) has 
 somewhat of the Usurper in him ; but he is brave and 
 generous, and his dominion pleasing. For this reason of 
 Delight, the Ancients (whom I will still believe as wise as 
 those who so confidently correct them) wrote all their
 
 i2o DRYDEN'S GREAT ERROR. DEFENCE &c. p- 
 
 Tragedies in Verse : though they knew it most remote from 
 conversation. 
 
 But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another re- 
 buke from my opponent : for when I plead that " the Ancients 
 used Verse," I prove not that, They would have admitted 
 Rhyme, had it then been written. 
 
 All I can say, is, That it seems to have succeeded Verse, 
 by the general consent of Poets in all modern languages. 
 For almost all their serious Plays are written in it : which, 
 though it be no Demonstration that therefore it ought to be 
 so ; yet, at least, the Practice first, and then the Continua- 
 tion of it shews that it attained the end, which was, to 
 Please. And if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the 
 first who shall lay it down. 
 
 For I confess my chief endeavours are to delight the Age 
 in which I live [p. 582]. If the Humour of this, be for Low 
 Comedy, small Accidents [Incidents], and Raillery ; I will force 
 my genius to obey it : though, with more reputation, I could 
 write in Verse. I know, I am not so fitted, by nature, to 
 write Comedy. I want that gaiety of Humour which is 
 required to it. My conversation is dull and slow. My 
 Humour is saturnine and reserved. In short, I am none of 
 those, who endeavour to break jests in company, or make 
 repartees. So that those who decry my Comedies, do me 
 no injury, except it be in point of profit. Reputation in 
 them is the last thing to which I shall pretend. 
 
 I beg pardon for entertaining the reader with so ill a 
 subject : but before I quit that argument, which was the 
 cause of this digression ; I cannot but take notice how I am 
 corrected for my quotation of SENECA, in my defence of Plays 
 in Verse. 
 
 My words were these [/>. 570] : "Our language is noble, full, 
 and significant ; and I know not why he, who is master of it, 
 may not clothe ordinary things in it, as decently as the Latin ; 
 if he use the same diligence in his choice of words." 
 
 One would think, " Unlock the door," was a thing as 
 vulgar as could be spoken : yet SENECA could make it sound 
 high and lofty in his Latin. 
 
 Reserate clusos regii pastes Laris
 
 *' Dry iws:] DEFENCE &c. SIR ROBERT'S BAD LATIN. 1 2 1 
 
 But he says of me, That being filled with the precedents 
 of the Ancients who Writ their Plays in Verse, I commend the 
 thing ; declaring our language to be full, noble, and significant, 
 and charging all the defects upon the ill placing of words ; which 
 I prove by quoting SENECA'S loftily expressing such an ordinary 
 thing as shutting the door. 
 
 Here he manifestly mistakes. For I spoke not of the 
 Placing, but the Choice of words : for which I quoted that 
 aphorism of JULIUS CAESAR, Delectus verborum est origo elo- 
 quentice. But delectus verborum is no more Latin for the 
 "Placing of words;" than Reserate is Latin for "Shut the 
 the door ! " as he interprets it ; which I, ignorantly, construed 
 " Unlock or open it ! " 
 
 He supposes I was highly affected with the Sound of these 
 words ; and I suppose I may more justly imagine it of 
 him : for if he had not been extremely satisfied with the 
 Sound, he would have minded the Sense a little better. 
 
 But these are, now, to be no faults. For, ten days after 
 his book was published, and that his mistakes are grown so 
 famous that they are come back to him, he sends his Errata 
 to be printed, and annexed to his Play ; and desires that in- 
 stead of Shutting, you should read Opening, which, it seems, 
 was the printer's fault. I wonder at his modesty ! that he 
 did not rather say it was SENECA'S or mine : and that in 
 some authors, Reserate was to Shut as well as to Open; as the 
 word Barach, say the learned, is [in Hebrew] both to Bless and 
 Curse. 
 
 Well, since it was the printer's fault] ; he was a naughty 
 man, to commit the same mistake twice in six lines. 
 
 I warrant you ! Delectus verborum for Placing of words, was 
 his mistake too ; though the author forgot to tell him of it. 
 If it were my book, I assure you it should [be]. For those 
 rascals ought to be the proxies of every Gentleman-Author ; 
 and to be chastised for him, when he is not pleased to own an 
 error. 
 
 Yet, since he has given the Errata, I wish he would have 
 enlarged them only a few sheets more ; and then he would have 
 spared me the labour of an answer. For this cursed printer 
 is so given to mistakes, that there is scarce a sentence in the 
 Preface without some false grammar, or hard sense [i.e., 
 difficulty in gathering the meaning] in it ; which will all be
 
 122 SIR ROBERT'S WORSE ENGLISH. DEFENCE &c.[ J - 
 
 charged upon the Poet : because he is so good natured as 
 to lay but three errors to the Printer's account, and to take 
 the rest upon himself; who is better able to support them. 
 But he needs not [to] apprehend that I should strictly 
 examine those little faults ; except I am called upon to do it. 
 I shall return, therefore, to that quotation of SENECA ; and 
 answer not to what he writes, but to what he means. 
 
 I never intended it as an Argument, but only as an Illus- 
 tration of what I had said before [p. 570] concerning the 
 Election of words. And all he can charge me with, is only this, 
 That if SENECA could make an ordinary thing sound well in 
 Latin by the choice of words ; the same, with like care, might 
 be performed in English. If it cannot, I have committed 
 an error on the right hand, by commending too much, the 
 copiousness and well sounding of our language : which I hope 
 my countrymen will pardon me. At least, the words which 
 follow in my Dramatic Essay will plead somewhat in my be- 
 half. For I say there [p. 570], That this objection happens 
 but seldom in a Play ; and then too, either the meanness of 
 the expression may be avoided, or shut out from the verse by 
 breaking it in the midst. 
 
 But I have said too much in the Defence of Verse. For, 
 after all, 'tis a very indifferent thing to me, whether it obtain 
 or not. I am content, hereafter to be ordered by his rule, 
 that is, "to write it, sometimes, because it pleases me" 
 [p. 575] ; and so much the rather, because " he has declared 
 that it pleases him." 
 
 But, he has taken his last farewell of the Muses ; and he 
 has done it civilly, by honouring them with the name of his 
 long acquaintances [p. 574] : which is a compliment they have 
 scarce deserved from him. 
 
 For my own part, I bear a share in the public loss ; and 
 how emulous soever I may be, of his Fame and Reputation, 
 I cannot but give this testimony of his Style, that it is ex- 
 treme[ly] poetical, even in Oratory ; his Thoughts elevated, 
 sometimes above common apprehension ; his Notions politic 
 and grave, and tending to the instruction of Princes and re- 
 formation of State : that they are abundantly interlaced with 
 variety of fancies, tropes, and figures, which the Critics have
 
 ; ' Dr) $58:] DEFENCE &c. HE HAS LEFT THE MUSES ! 123 
 
 enviously branded with the name of Obscurity and False 
 Grammar. 
 
 Well, he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature 
 [p. 574]. The Muses have lost him, but the Commonwealth 
 gains by it. The corruption of a Poet is the generation of a 
 Statesman. 
 
 He will not venture again into the Civil Wars of Censure 
 [Criticism], 
 
 Ubi .... nullos habitura triumphos. 
 
 If he had not told us, he had left the Muses ; we might 
 have half suspected it by that word, ubi, which does not any 
 way belong to them, in that place. The rest of the verse is 
 indeed LUCAN'S: but that ubi, I will answer for it, is his 
 own. 
 
 Yet he has another reason for this disgust of Poesy. For 
 he says, immediately after, that the manner of Plays which are 
 now in most esteem, is beyond his power to perform [p. 574]. To 
 perform the manner of a thing, is new English to me. 
 
 However he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather 
 their unnecessary understanding; who, like SANCHO PANZA'S 
 Doctor, prescribe too strictly to our appetites. For, says he, in 
 the difference of Tragedy and Comedy and of Farce itself; there 
 can be no determination but by the taste ; nor in the manner of 
 their composure. 
 
 We shall see him, now, as great a Critic as he was a Poet: 
 and the reason why he excelled so much in Poetry will be 
 evident ; for it will have proceeded from the exactness of his 
 Judgement. 
 
 In the difference of Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce itself; there 
 can be no determination but by the taste. I will not quarrel 
 with the obscurity of this phrase, though I justly might : 
 but beg his pardon, if I do not rightly understand him. If 
 he means that there is no essential difference betwixt Comedy, 
 Tragedy, and Farce ; but only what is made by people's 
 taste, which distinguishes one of them from the other : that 
 is so manifest an error, that I need lose no time to contra- 
 dict it. 
 
 Were there neither Judge, Taste, or Opinion in the world ; 
 yet they would differ in their natures. For the Action,
 
 124 POESY MUST BE ETHICAL. DEFENCE &c.\^- 
 
 Character, and Language of Tragedy would still be great and 
 high : that of Comedy, lower and more familiar. Admiration 
 would be the Delight of the one : Satire, of the other. 
 
 I have but briefly touched upon these things ; because, 
 whatever his words are, I can scarce [ly] imagine that he who is 
 always concerned for the true honour of Reason, and would have no 
 spurious issue fathered upon her [p. 578], should mean anything 
 so absurd, as to affirm that there is no difference between Comedy 
 and Tragedy, but what is made by taste only : unless he would 
 have us understand the Comedies of my Lord L. [?] ; where 
 the First Act should be Potages, the Second, Fricasses, 6-c., 
 and the Fifth, a chere entiere of women. 
 
 I rather guess, he means that betwixt one Comedy or 
 Tragedy and another ; there is no other difference but what 
 is made by the liking or disliking of the audience. This is, 
 indeed, a less error than the former ; but yet it is a great 
 one. 
 
 The liking or disliking of the people gives the Play the 
 denomination of "good" or " bad " ; but does not really make 
 or constitute it such. To please the people ought to be the 
 Poet's aim [pp. 513, 582, 584] ; because Plays are made for 
 their delight : but it does not follow, that they are always 
 pleased with good plays ; or that the plays which please 
 them, are always good. 
 
 The Humour of the people is now for Comedy ; therefore, 
 in hope to please them, I write Comedies rather than serious 
 Plays ; and, so far, their taste prescribes to me. But it does 
 not follow from that reason, that Comedy is to be preferred 
 before Tragedy, in its own nature. For that which is so, in 
 its own nature, cannot be otherwise ; as a man cannot but be 
 a rational creature : but the opinion of the people may alter ; 
 and in another Age, or perhaps in this, serious Plays may be 
 set up above Comedies. 
 
 This I think a sufficient answer. If it be not, he has pro- 
 vided me of [with] an excuse. It seems, in his wisdom, he fore- 
 saw my weakness ; and has found out this expedient for me, 
 That it is not necessary for Poets to study strict Reason : since they 
 are so used to a greater latitude than is allowed by that severe 
 inquisition; that they must infringe their own jurisdiction to 
 Profess themselves obliged to argue well. 
 
 I am obliged to him, for discovering to me this back door ;
 
 J< Dr ^668:] DEFENCE &c. A GREAT WIT'S GREAT WORK. 1 2 5 
 
 but I am not yet resolved on my retreat. For I am of opi- 
 nion, that they cannot be good Poets, who are not accustomed 
 to argue well. False Reasonings and Colours of Speech are 
 the certain marks of one who does not understand the Stage. 
 For Moral Truth is the Mistress of the Poet as much as of 
 the Philosopher. Poesy must resemble Natural Truth ; but 
 it must be Ethical. Indeed the Poet dresses Truth, and 
 adorns Nature ; but does not alter them. 
 
 Ficta voluptatis causa sint proximo, veris. 
 
 Therefore that is not the best Poesy which resembles notions 
 of things, which are not, to things which are : though the Fancy 
 may be great, and the Words flowing; yet the Soul is but half 
 satisfied, when there is not Truth in the foundation [p. 560]. 
 
 This is that which makes VIRGIL [to] be preferred before the 
 rest of poets. In Variety of Fancy, and Sweetness of Expres- 
 sion, you see OVID far above him ; for VIRGIL rejected many 
 of those things which OVID wrote. "A great Wit's great 
 work, is to refuse," as my worthy friend, Sir JOHN BIRKEN- 
 HEAD has ingeniously expressed it. You rarely meet with 
 anything in VIRGIL but Truth ; which therefore leaves the 
 strongest impression of Pleasure in the Soul. This I thought 
 myself obliged to say in behalf of Poesy: and to declare 
 (though it be against myself) that when poets do not argue 
 well, the defect is in the Workmen, not in the Art. 
 
 And, now, I come to the boldest part of his Discourse, 
 wherein he attacks not me, but all the Ancient and Moderns ; 
 and undermines, as he thinks, the very foundations on which 
 Dramatic Poesy is built. I could wish he would have de- 
 clined that envy, which must, of necessity, follow such an 
 undertaking: and contented himself with triumphing over 
 me, in my opinions of Verse ; which I will never, hereafter, 
 dispute with him. But he must pardon me, if I have that 
 veneration for ARISTOTLE, HORACE, BEN. JOHNSON, and 
 CORNEILLE, that I dare not serve him in such a cause, and 
 against such heroes : but rather fight under their protection ; 
 as HOMER reports of little TEUCER, who shot the Trojans 
 from under the large buckler of AJAX Telamon
 
 126 FOUNDATION OF POESY. DEFENCE &c. [ J- Dn ft: 
 
 STTJ B'ap* air AMVTOS aa/cet Te\afj,cai'td8aa>, &c. 
 
 He stood beneath his brother's ample shield ; 
 And, covered there, shot death through all the field. 
 
 The words of my noble adversary are these 
 
 But if w& examine the general Rules laid down for Plays, by 
 strict Reason, we shall find the errors equally gross ; for the great 
 Foundation which is laid to build upon, is Nothing, as it is gene- 
 rally stated : as will appear upon the examination of the particu- 
 lars. 
 
 These particulars, in due time, shall be examined. In the 
 meanwhile, let us consider, what this great Foundation is ; 
 which, he says, is " Nothing, as it is generally stated." 
 
 I never heard of any other Foundation of Dramatic Poesy, 
 than the Imitation of Nature : neither was there ever pre- 
 tended any other, by the Ancients or Moderns, or me who 
 endeavoured to follow them in that Rule. This I have 
 plainly said, in my Definition of a Play, that IT is A JUST 
 
 AND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, &C. 
 
 Thus 'the Foundation, as it is generally stated," will stand 
 sure, if this Definition of a Play be true. If it be not, he 
 ought to have made his exception against it ; by proving that 
 a Play is not an Imitation of Nature, but somewhat else, 
 which he is pleased to think it. 
 
 But 'tis very plain, that he has mistaken the Foundation, for 
 that which is built upon it ; though not immediately. For 
 the direct and immediate consequence is this. If Nature be 
 to be imitated, then there is a Rule for imitating Nature 
 rightly ; otherwise, there may be an End, and no Means con- 
 ducing to it. 
 
 Hitherto, I have proceeded by demonstration. But as our 
 Divines, when they have proved a Deity (because there is 
 Order), and have inferred that this Deity ought to be wor- 
 shipped, differ, afterwards, in the Manner of the Worship : 
 so, having laid down, that "Nature is to be imitated ; " and 
 that Proposition [p. 577] proving the next, that, then, "there 
 are means, which conduce to the imitating of Nature"; I 
 dare proceed no farther, positively, but have only laid down 
 some opinions of the Ancients and Moderns, and of my own, as
 
 DEFENCE &c. THE ESSAY WAS TENTATIVE. 127 
 
 Means which they used, and which I thought probable, for 
 the attaining of that End. 
 
 Those Means are the same, which my antagonist calls the 
 Foundations : how properly the World may judge ! And to 
 prove that this is his meaning, he clears it immediately to 
 you, by enumerating those Rules or Propositions, against 
 which he makes his particular exceptions, as namely, those 
 of T i M E and PLACE, in these words. 
 
 First, we are told the Plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, 
 as to crowd several Countries into one Stage. Secondly, to cramp 
 the accidents of many years or days, into the Representation of two 
 hours and a half. And, lastly, a conclusion drawn that the only 
 remaining dispute, is concerning Time ; whether it should be con- 
 tained in Twelve or Four and twenty hours ; and the Place to be 
 limited to the spot of ground, [either in town or city] where the 
 Play is supposed to begin. And this is called nearest to Nature. 
 For that is concluded most natural ; which is most probable and 
 nearest to that which it presents. 
 
 Thus he has, only, made a small Mistake of the Means 
 conducing to the end, for the End itself ; and of the Super- 
 structure for the Foundation. But he proceeds, 
 
 To shew, therefore, upon what ill grounds, they dictate Laws for 
 Dramatic Poesy &c. 
 
 He is, here, pleased to charge me with being Magisterial ; 
 as he has done in many other places of his Preface. 
 
 Therefore, in vindication of myself, I must crave leave to 
 say, that my whole Discourse was sceptical, according to 
 that way of reasoning which was used by SOCRATES, PLATO, 
 and all the Academics of old; which TULLY and the best 
 of the Ancients followed, and which is imitated by the 
 modest Inquisitions of the Royal Society. 
 
 That it is so, not only the name will show, which is An 
 Essay ; but the frame and composition of the work. You see 
 it is a dialogue sustained by persons of several opinions, 
 all of them left doubtful, to be determined by the readers in 
 general ; and more particularly deferred to the accurate judge- 
 ment of my Lord BUCKHURST, to whom I made a dedication 
 of my book. These are my words, in my Epistle, speaking 
 of the persons, whom I introduced in my dialogue, " 'Tis 
 true, they differed in their opinions, as 'tis probable they would ;
 
 128 DRYDEN NOT ARROGANT. DEFENCE &c. [ J> 
 
 neither do I take upon me to reconcile, but to relate them : 
 leaving your Lordship to decide it, in favour of that part, 
 which you shall judge most reasonable." 
 
 And, after that, in my Advertisements to the Reader, I said 
 this, " The drift of the ensuing Discourse was chiefly to vin- 
 dicate the honour of our English Writers, from the censure of 
 those who injustly prefer the French before them. This I 
 intimate, lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to 
 teach others an Art, which they understand much better than 
 myself." 
 
 But this is more than [is] necessary to clear my modesty 
 in that point : and I am very confident that there is scarce 
 any man, who has lost so much time as to read that trifle, 
 but will be my compurgator as to that arrogance whereof I 
 am accused. The truth is, if I had been naturally guilty of 
 so much vanity, as to dictate my opinions ; yet I do not find 
 that the Character of a Positive or Self Conceited Person is 
 of such advantage to any in this Age, that I should labour to 
 be Publicly Admitted of that Order. 
 
 But I am not, now, to defend my own cause, when that 
 of all the Ancients and Moderns is in question. For this 
 gentleman, who accuses me of arrogance, has taken a course 
 not to be taxed with the other extreme of modesty. Those 
 Propositions which are laid down in my Discourse, as Helps 
 to the better Imitation of Nature, are not mine, as I have 
 said ; nor were ever pretended so to be : but were derived from 
 the authority of ARISTOTLE and HORACE, and from the rules 
 and examples of BEN. JOHNSON and CORNEILLE. These are 
 the men, with whom be properly he contends : and against 
 whom he will endeavour to make it evident, that there is no such 
 thing as what they All pretend. 
 
 His argument against the Unities of PLACE and 
 T i M E is this. 
 
 That 'tis as impossible for one Stage to present two Rooms or 
 Houses truly, as two Countries or Kingdoms ; and as impossible 
 that Five hours or Twenty-four hours should be Two hours as that 
 a Thousand years or hours should be less than what they are, or 
 the greatest part of time to be comprehended in the less : for all of 
 them being impossible they are none of them nearest the Truth or
 
 ] DEFENCE &c. PLACE, REAL OR IMAGINARY. 129 
 
 Nature of what they present, for impossibilities are all equal, and 
 admit of no degrees. 
 
 This argument is so scattered into parts, that it can scarce 
 be united into a Syllogism : yet, in obedience to him, I will 
 abbreviate, and comprehend as much of it, as I can, in few 
 words ; that my Answer to it, may be more perspicuous. 
 
 I conceive his meaning to be what follows, as to the Unity 
 of P L A c E. If I mistake, I beg his pardon! professing it 
 is not out of any design to play the argumentative Poet. " If 
 one Stage cannot properly present two Rooms or Houses, 
 much less two Countries or Kingdoms ; then there can be no 
 Unity of Place: but one Stage cannot properly perform this; 
 therefore, there can be no Unity of Place." 
 
 I plainly deny his Minor Proposition : the force of which 
 if I mistake not, depends on this; that "the Stage being one 
 place, cannot be two." This, indeed, is as great a secret as 
 that, " we are all mortal." But, to requite it with another, 
 I must crave leave to tell him, that " though the Stage can- 
 not be two places, yet it may properly Represent them, suc- 
 cessively or at several times." 
 
 His argument is, indeed, no more than a mere fallacy : 
 which will evidently appear, when we distinguished Place 
 as it relates to Plays, into Real and Imaginary. The Real 
 place is that theatre or piece of ground, on which the Play is 
 acted. The Imaginary, that house, town, or country, where 
 the action of the Drama is supposed to be ; or, more plainly, 
 where the Scene of the Play is laid. 
 
 Let us now apply this to that Herculean argument, which 
 if strictly and duly weighed, is to make it evident, that there is no 
 such thing as what they All pretend. 'Tis impossible, he says, for 
 one Stage to present two Rooms or Houses. I answer, "Tis 
 neither impossible, nor improper, for one real place to repre- 
 sent two or more imaginary places : so it be done successively," 
 which, in other words, is no more than this, " That the Im- 
 agination of the Audience, aided by the words of the Poet, 
 and painted scenes [scenery], nay suppose the Stage to be some- 
 times one place, sometimes another ; now a garden or wood, 
 and immediately a camp ; " which I appeal to every man's 
 imagination, if it be not true ! 
 
 Neither the Ancients nor Moderns (as much fools as he is
 
 130 IMAGINATION AND REASON. DEFENCE &c. [ J 
 
 pleased to think them) ever asserted that they could make 
 one place, two : but they might hope, by the good leave of 
 this author ! that the change of a Scene might lead the Im- 
 agination to suppose the place altered. So that he cannot 
 fasten those absurdities upon this Scene of a Play or Ima- 
 ginary Place of Action ; that it is one place, and yet two. 
 
 And this being so clearly proved, that 'tis past any shew of 
 a reasonable denial ; it will not be hard to destroy that other 
 part of his argument, which depends upon it : that 'tis as im- 
 possible for a Stage to represent two Rooms or Houses, as two 
 Countries or Kingdoms : for his reason is already overthrown, 
 which was, because both were alike impossible. This is manifestly 
 otherwise : for 'tis proved that a stage may properly Repre- 
 sent two Rooms or Houses. For the Imagination, being 
 judge of what is represented, will, in reason, be less chocqued 
 [shocked] with the appearance of two rooms in the same house, 
 or two nouses in the same city ; than with two distant cities in 
 the same country, or two remote countries in the same universe. 
 
 Imagination in a man or reasonable creature is supposed 
 to participate of Reason ; and, when that governs (as it does 
 in the belief of fiction) reason is not destroyed, but misled or 
 blinded. That can prescribe to the Reason, during the time 
 of the representation, somewhat like a weak belief of what it 
 sees and hears ; and Reason suffers itself to be so hoodwinked, 
 that it may better enjoy the pleasures of the fiction : but it 
 is never so wholly made a captive as to be drawn headlong 
 into a persuasion of those things which are most remote 
 from probability. 'Tis, in that case, a free born subject, not 
 a slave, It will contribute willingly its assent, as far as it 
 sees convenient : but will not be forced. 
 
 Now, there is a greater Vicinity, in Nature, betwixt two 
 rooms than betwixt two houses ; betwixt two houses, than be- 
 twixt two cities : and so, of the rest. Reason, therefore, can 
 sooner be led by Imagination, to step from one room to another, 
 than to walk to two distant houses : and yet, rather to go 
 thither, than to fly like a witch through the air, and be 
 hurried from one region to another. Fancy and Reason go 
 hand in hand. The first cannot leave the last behind : and 
 though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulf, would venture 
 over, as the nimbler; yet, it is withheld by Reason, which 
 will refuse to take the leap, when the distance, over it, appears
 
 '* Dry i8:] DEFENCE &c. A MIRROR HELD TO NATURE. 131 
 
 too large. If BEN. JOHNSON himself, will remove the scene 
 from Rome into Tuscany, in the same Act ; and from thence, 
 return to Rome, in the Scene which immediate follows; Reason 
 will consider there is no proportionable allowance of time to 
 perform the journey; and therefore, will choose to stay at home. 
 
 So then, the less change of place there is, the less time is 
 taken up in transporting the persons of the Drama, with 
 Analogy to Reason : and in that Analogy or Resemblance of 
 Fiction to Truth consists the excellency of the Play. 
 
 For what else concerns the Unity of PLACE ; I have already 
 given my opinion of it in my Essay, that "there is a latitude 
 to be allowed to it, as several places in the same town or 
 city ; or places adjacent to each other, in the same country ; 
 which may all be comprehended under the larger denomination 
 of One Place ; yet, with this restriction, the nearer and fewer 
 those imaginary places are, the greater resemblance they will 
 have to Truth : and Reason which cannot make them One, 
 will be more easily led to suppose them so." 
 
 What has been said of the Unity of P L A c E , may easily 
 be applied to that of TIME. I grant it to be impossible that 
 the greater part of time should be comprehended in the less, that 
 Twenty-four hours should be crowded into three. But there is no 
 necessity of that supposition. 
 
 For as Place, so T I M E relating to a Play, is either Imagi- 
 nary or Real. The Real is comprehended in those three 
 hours, more or less, in the space of which the Play is Repre- 
 sented. The Imaginary is that which is Supposed to be 
 taken up in the representation; as twenty-four hours, more or 
 less. Now, no man ever could suppose that twenty-four real 
 hours could be included in the space of three : but where is 
 the absurdity of affirming, that the feigned business of twenty- 
 four imagined hours, may not more naturally be represented 
 in the compass of three real hours, than the like feigned 
 business of twenty-four years in the same proportion of real 
 time ? For the proportions are always real ; and much nearer, 
 by his permission ! of twenty-four to three, than of 4000 to it. 
 
 I am almost fearful of illustrating anything by Similitude ; 
 lest he should confute it for an Argument : yet, I think the 
 comparison of a Glass will discover, very aptly, the fallacy of 
 his argument, both concerning Time and Place. The strength
 
 132 DRYDEN'S OPINION ON TIME. DEFENCE &c. [ J - Dry z ; 
 
 of his Reason depends on this, " That the less cannot com- 
 prehend the greater." I have already answered that we need 
 not suppose it does. I say not, that the less can comprehend 
 the greater ; but only that it may represent it ; as An a mirror, 
 of half a yard [in] diameter, a whole room, and many persons 
 in it, may be seen at once : not that it can comprehend that 
 room or those persons, but that it represents them to the sight. 
 
 But the Author of The Duke of LERMA is to be excused for 
 his declaring against the Unity of TIME. For, if I be not 
 much mistaken, he is an interessed [interested] person ; the 
 time of that Play taking up so many years as the favour of 
 the Duke of LERMA continued : nay, the Second and Third 
 Acts including all the time of his prosperity, which was a 
 great part of the reign of PHILIP III. ; for in the beginning of 
 the Second Act, he was not yet a favourite, and before the 
 end of the Third, was in disgrace. 
 
 I say not this, with the least design of limiting the Stage 
 too servilely to twenty-four hours : however he be pleased to 
 tax me with dogmatizing in that point. In my Dialogue, as 
 I before hinted, several persons maintained their several 
 opinions. One of them, indeed, who supported the cause of 
 the French Poesy, said, how strict they were in that particu- 
 lar [p. 531] : but he who answered in behalf of our nation, was 
 willing to give more latitude to the Rule ; and cites the 
 words of CORNEILLE himself, complaining against the 
 severity of it, and observing what beauties it banished from 
 the Stage, page 44, of my Essay. 
 
 In few words, my own opinion is this ; and I willingly sub- 
 mit it to my adversary, when he will please impartially to 
 consider it. That the Imaginary Time of every Play ought 
 to be contrived into as narrow a compass, as the nature of 
 the Plot, the quality of the Persons, and variety of Accidents 
 will allow. In Comedy, I would not exceed twenty-four or 
 thirty hours ; for the Plot, Accidents, and Persons of Comedy 
 are small, and may be naturally turned in a little compass. 
 But in Tragedy, the Design is weighty, and the Persons great ; 
 therefore there will, naturally, be required a greater space 
 of time, in which to move them. 
 
 And this, though BEN. JOHNSON has not told us, yet 'tis, 
 manifestly, his opinion. For you see, that, to his Comedies,
 
 J ' Dry i d 668.] DEPENCE &c. HE PREFERS THE EPICENE. 133 
 
 he allows generally but twenty-four hours : to his two Tragedies 
 SEjANUSand CATILINE, a much larger time; though he draws 
 both of them into as narrow a compass as he can. For he 
 shows you only the latter end of SE JANUS his favour ; and 
 the conspiracy of CATILINE already ripe, and just breaking 
 out into action. 
 
 But as it is an error on the one side, to make too great a 
 disproportion betwixt the imaginary time of the Play, and 
 the real time of its representation : so, on the other side, 'tis 
 an oversight to compress the Accidents of a Play into a 
 narrower compass than that in which they could naturally 
 be produced. 
 
 Of this last error, the French are seldom guilty, because 
 the thinness of their Plots prevents them from it : but few 
 Englishmen, except BEN. JOHNSON, have ever made a Plot, 
 with variety of Design in it, included in twenty-four hours ; 
 which was altogether natural. For this reason, I prefer the 
 Silent Woman before all other plays ; I think, justly : as I do 
 its author, in judgement, above all other poets. Yet of the 
 two, I think that error the most pardonable, which, in too 
 straight a compass, crowds together many accidents : since 
 it produces more variety, and consequently more pleasure to 
 the audience ; and because the nearness of proportion betwixt 
 the imaginary and real time does speciously cover the com- 
 pression of the Accidents. 
 
 Thus I have endeavoured to answer the meaning of his 
 argument. For, as he drew it, I humbly conceive, it was 
 none. As will appear by his Proposition, and the proof of 
 it. His Proposition was this, // strictly and duly weighed, 
 'tis as impossible for one Stage to present two Rooms or Houses, 
 as two countries or kingdoms, &c. And his Proof this, For all 
 being impossible, they are none of them, nearest the Truth or 
 Nature of what they present. 
 
 Here you see, instead of a Proof or Reason, there is only 
 a petitio principii. For, in plain words, his sense is this, 
 "Two things are as impossible as one another: because 
 they are both equally impossible." But he takes those two 
 things to be granted as impossible ; which he ought to have 
 proved such, before he had proceeded to prove them equally 
 impossible. He should have made out, first, that it was
 
 1 34 DEFENCE &c. DRYDEN'S GRACEFUL ADIEU. [ J - 
 
 fden. 
 1668. 
 
 impossible for one Stage to represent two Houses ; and then 
 have gone forward, to prove that it was as equally impossible 
 for a Stage to present two Houses, as two Countries. 
 
 After all this, the very absurdity to which he would reduce 
 me, is none at all. For his only drives at this. That if his 
 argument be true, I must then acknowledge that there are 
 degrees in impossibilities. Which I easily grant him, without 
 dispute. And if I mistake not, ARISTOTLE and the School 
 are of my opinion. For there are some things which are 
 absolutely impossible, and others which are only so, ex parte. 
 As, 'tis absolutely impossible for a thing to be and not to be, 
 at the same time : but, for a stone to move naturally upward, 
 is only impossible ex parte material ; but it is not impossible 
 for the First Mover to alter the nature of it. 
 
 His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble. 
 For where I have observed that " None have been violent 
 against Verse; but such only as have not attempted it, or have 
 succeeded ill in their attempt " [pp. 503, 539, 561, 578], he will 
 needs, according to his usual custom, improve my Observation 
 into an Argument, that he might have the glory to confute it. 
 
 But I lay my observation at his feet : as I do my pen, 
 which I have often employed, willingly, in his deserved com- 
 mendations ; and, now, most unwillingly, against his judge- 
 ment. For his person and parts, I honour them, as much 
 as any man living: and have had so many particular 
 obligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did 
 not acknowledge them to the World. 
 
 But I gave not the first occasion of this Difference in 
 Opinions. In my Epistle Dedicatory, before my Rival Ladies 
 [pp. 487-493], I said somewhat in behalf of Verse: which 
 he was pleased to answer in his Preface to his Plays [pp. 494- 
 500]. That occasioned my reply in my Essay [pp. 501-572] : 
 and that reply begot his rejoinder in his Preface to The Duke 
 of LERMA [pp. 573-578]. But, as I was the last who took 
 up arms ; I will be the first to lay them down. For what I 
 have here written, I submit it wholly to him [p. 561] ; and, if I 
 do not hereafter answer what may be objected to this paper, I 
 hope the World will not impute it to any other reason, than 
 only the due respect which I have for so noble an opponent.
 
 135 
 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 Relations with JOHN MILTON. 
 
 MENTIONED, before, that, when I was a boy, I 
 made some good progress in learning ; and lost it 
 all again before I came to be a man : nor was I 
 rightly sensible of my loss therein, until I came 
 amongst the Quakers. But then, I both saw my 
 loss, and lamented it ; and applied myself with the utmost 
 diligence, at all leisure times, to recover it : so false I found 
 that charge to be, which, in those times, was cast as a 
 reproach upon the Quakers, that " they despised and decried 
 all human learning " because they denied it to be essentially 
 necessary to a Gospel Ministry ; which was one of the contro- 
 versies of those times. 
 
 But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains, to regain 
 what once I had been master of ; yet I found it a matter of 
 so great difficulty, that I was ready to say as the noble 
 eunuch to PHILIP, in another case, " How can I ! unless 
 I had some man to guide me ? " 
 
 This, I had formerly complained of to my especial friend 
 ISAAC PENINGTON, but now more earnestly ; which put him 
 upon considering and contriving a means for my assistance. 
 
 He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. PAGET, a 
 physician of note in London ; and he, with JOHN MILTON, 
 a gentleman of great note in learning, throughout the learned
 
 136 ELLWOOD ALONE AT CROWELL, IN 1661 ; BUT [* J 
 
 Ellwood. 
 1713- 
 
 world, for the accurate pieces he had written on various 
 subjects and occasions. 
 
 This person, having filled a public station in the former 
 times, lived now a private and retired life in London : and, 
 having wholly lost his sight, kept a man to read to him ; 
 which, usually, was the son of some gentleman of his ac- 
 quaintance, whom, in kindness, he took to improve in his 
 learning. 
 
 Thus, by the mediation of my friend ISAAC PENINGTON, 
 with Dr. PAGET ; and of Dr. PAGET with JOHN MILTON, was 
 I admitted to come to him : not as a servant to him (which, 
 at that time, he needed not), nor to be in the house with 
 him ; but only to have the liberty of coming to his house, at 
 certain hours, when I would, and to read to him, what books 
 he should appoint me, which was all the favour I desired. 
 
 But this being a matter which would require some time to 
 bring it about, I, in the meanwhile, returned to my father's 
 house [at Crowell] in Oxfordshire. 
 
 I had, before, received direction by letters from my eldest 
 sister, written by my father's command, to put off [dispose of] 
 what cattle he had left about his house, and to discharge his 
 servants ; which I had done at the time called Michaelmas 
 [1661] before. 
 
 So that, all that winter when I was at home, I lived like a 
 hermit, all alone ; having a pretty large house, and nobody 
 in it but myself, at nights especially. But an elderly woman, 
 whose father had been an old servant to the family, came 
 every morning, and made my bed ; and did what else I had 
 occasion for her to do : till I fell ill of the small-pox, and 
 then I had her with me, and the nurse. 
 
 But now, understanding by letter from my sister, that my 
 father did not intend to return and settle there ; I made off 
 [sold] those provisions which were in the house, that they 
 might not be spoiled when I was gone : and because they 
 were what I should have spent, if I had tarried there, I 
 took the money made of them, to myself, for my support at 
 London ; if the project succeeded for my going thither. This 
 done, I committed the care of the house to a tenant of my 
 father's, who lived in the town ; and taking my leave of Crowell, 
 went up to my sure friend ISAAC PENINGTON again. Where, 
 understanding that the mediation used for my admittance to
 
 READS TO MILTON IN THE SPRING OF 1662. 137 
 
 JOHN MILTON had succeeded so well, that I might come 
 when I would : I hastened to London [in the Spring of 1662], 
 and, in the first place, went to wait upon him. 
 
 He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. 
 PAGET, who introduced me; as of ISAAC PENINGTON, who 
 recommended me : to both of whom, he bore a good respect. 
 And having inquired divers things of me, with respect to my 
 former progression in learning, he dismissed me, to provide 
 myself of such accommodation as might be most suitable to 
 my future studies. 
 
 I went, therefore, and took myself a lodging as near to his 
 house, which was then in Jewin Street, as conveniently as 
 I could ; and from thenceforward, went every day in the 
 afternoon, except on the First Days of the week ; and, sitting 
 by him in his dining-room, read to him, in such books in the 
 Latin tongue as he pleased to hear me read. 
 
 At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I used 
 the English pronounciation ; he told me, " If I would have 
 the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read and under- 
 stand Latin authors, but to converse with foreigners, either 
 abroad or at home ; I must learn the foreign pronounciation." 
 
 To this, I consenting, he instructed me how to sound the 
 vowels so differently] from the common pronounciation used 
 by the English, who speak Anglice their Latin, that (with 
 some few other variations, in sounding some consonants : in 
 particular case[s] , as c before e or *', like ch ; sc before i, like 
 sh y &c.) the Latin, thus spoken, seemed as different from 
 that which was delivered as the English generally speak it, 
 as if it were another language. 
 
 I had, before, during my retired life at my father's, by 
 unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered the Rules 
 of Grammar (in which, I had, once, been very ready) that 
 I could both read a Latin author ; and, after a sort, hammer 
 out his meaning. But this change of pronounciation proved 
 a new difficulty to me. It was now harder for me to read ; 
 than it was, before, to understand, when read. But 
 
 Labor omnia vincit 
 Improbus. 
 
 Incessant pains, 
 The end obtains.
 
 138 ILL IN THE COUNTRY ALL THE SUMMER, 
 
 D. Ellwood. 
 
 r 1713. 
 
 And so, did I : which made my reading the more acceptable 
 to my Master. He, on the other hand, perceiving with what 
 earnest desire, I pursued learning, gave me not only all the 
 encouragement, but all the help he could. For, having a 
 curious ear, he understood by my tone, when I understood 
 what I read, and when I did not ; and, accordingly, would 
 stop me, examine me, and open the most difficult passages. 
 
 Thus I went on, for about six weeks' time, reading to him 
 in the afternoons; and exercising myself with my own books, 
 in my chamber, in the forenoons. I was sensible of an im- 
 provement. 
 
 But, alas, I had fixed my studies in a wrong place. Lon- 
 don and I could never agree, for health. My lungs, as 
 I suppose, were too tender, to bear the sulphurous air of that 
 city : so that, I soon began to droop, and in less than two 
 months' time, I was fain to leave both my studies and the 
 city ; and return into the country to preserve life, and much 
 ado I had to get thither. 
 
 I chose to go down to Wiccombe, and to JOHN RANGE'S 
 house there: both as he was a physician, and his wife a 
 honest, hearty, discreet, and grave matron, whom I had a very 
 good esteem of ; and who, I knew, had a good regard for me. 
 
 There, I lay ill a considerable time ; and to that degree of 
 weakness, that scarcely any who saw me, expected my life 
 [that I should live] : but the LORD was both gracious to 
 me, in my illness; and was pleased to raise me up again, 
 that I might serve Him in my generation. 
 
 As soon as I had recovered so much strength, as to be fit 
 to travel ; I obtained of my father (who was then at his 
 house in Crowell, to dispose of some things he had there ; and 
 who, in my illness, had come to see me) so much money as 
 would clear all charges in the house, for physic, food, and 
 attendance : and having fully discharged all, I took leave of 
 my friends in that family, and town ; and returned [? in 
 October 1662] to my studies at London. 
 
 I was very kindly received by my Master, who had con- 
 ceived so good an opinion of me, that my conversation, I 
 found, was acceptable to him ; and he seemed heartily glad 
 of my recovery and return : and into our old method of study, 
 we fell again ; I reading to him, and he explaining to me as 
 occasion required.
 
 Is SENT TO BRIDEWELL, 26 OCTOBER 1662. 139 
 
 But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to me ; scarce 
 was I well settled in my work ; before I met with another 
 diversion [hindrance], which turned me quite out of my work. 
 
 For a sudden storm arising (from, I know not what sur- 
 mise of a plot ; and thereby danger to the Government) ; the 
 meetings of Dissenters, such, I mean, as could be found 
 (which, perhaps, were not many besides the Quakers) were 
 broken up throughout the City : and the prisons mostly filled 
 with our Friends. 
 
 I was, that morning, which was the 26th day of the 8th 
 month [which, according to the reckoning of the Society of 
 Friends, was October. Their First month down to 1752, was 
 March], 1662, at the Meeting, at the Bull and Mouth, by 
 Alders Gate : when, on a sudden, a party of soldiers, of the 
 Trained Bands of the City, rushed in with noise and clamour: 
 being led by one, who was called Major ROSEWELL : an 
 apothecary if I misremember not ; and, at that time, under 
 the ill name of a Papist. 
 
 [So the Friends there, with ELLWOOD, are taken ; and sent to Bridewell 
 till the igth December following : when they were taken to Newgate, ex- 
 pecting to be called at the Old Bailey sessions : but, not being called, were 
 sent back to Bridewell again. On the 29th December, they were brought 
 up at the Sessions, and, refusing to swear, were all committed to the 
 "Common Side "of Newgate ; but that prison being so full, they were sent 
 back to Bridewell again. Then we have the following extraordinary 
 circumstance.] 
 
 Having made up our packs, and taken our leave of our 
 Friends, whom we were to leave behind ; we took our bundles 
 on our shoulders, and walked, two and two a breast, through 
 the Old Bailey into Fleet Street, and so to Old Bridewell. 
 And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and the 
 streets pretty full of people ; both the shopkeepers at their 
 doors, and passengers in the way would stop us, and ask us, 
 " What we were ? and whither we were going ? " 
 
 And when we had told them, " We were prisoners, going 
 from one prison to another (from Newgate to Bridewell)." 
 
 " What," said they, " without a keeper ? " 
 
 " No," said we, " for our Word, which we have given, is 
 our keeper." 
 
 Some thereupon would advise us, not to go to prison ; but 
 to go home. But we told them, " We could not do so. We 
 could suffer for our testimony ; but could not fly from it."
 
 140 RELEASED FROM BRIDEWELL, JAN. 1663. [ T - ? Elh 7i 
 
 I do not remember we had any abuse offered us ; but were 
 generally pitied by the people. 
 
 When we were come to Bridewell, we were not put up into 
 the great room in which we had been before : but into a low 
 room, in another fair court, which had a pump in the middle 
 of it. And, here, we were not shut up as before : but had the 
 liberty of the court, to walk in ; and of the pump, to wash 
 and drink at. And, indeed, we might easily have gone quite 
 away, if we would ; there was a passage through the court 
 into the street : but we were true and steady prisoners, and 
 looked upon this liberty arising from their confidence in us, 
 to be a kind of parole upon us ; so that both Conscience and 
 
 Honour stood now engaged for our true imprisonment. 
 
 ***** 
 
 And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of our 
 Keeper, whose heart GOD disposed to favour us: so that both 
 the Master and his porter were very civil and kind to us, and 
 had been so, indeed, all along. For when we were shut up 
 before ; the porter would readily let some of us go home in 
 an evening, and stay at home till next morning, which was 
 a great conveniency to men of trade and business : which I, 
 being free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not 
 hinder others. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Under this easy restraint, we lay till the Court sate at the 
 Old Bailey again ; and, then (whether it was that the heat of 
 the storm was somewhat abated, or by what other means 
 Providence wrought it, I know not), we were called to the 
 bar ; and without further question, discharged. 
 
 Whereupon we returned to Bridewell again ; and having 
 raised some monies among us, and therewith gratified both 
 the Master and his porter, for their kindness to us : we spent 
 some time in a solemn meeting, to return our thankful 
 acknowledgment to the LORD; both for His preservation 
 of us in prison, and deliverance of us out of it. And then, 
 taking a solemn farewell of each other ; we departed with 
 bag and baggage [at the end of January 1663], 
 
 [Thus, by such magnificent patience under arbitrary injustice, these 
 invincible Quakers shamed the reckless Crime which, in those days, went 
 by the name of The Law : and such stories as ELLWOOD'S Life and 
 GEORGE Fox's Journal abound with like splendid victories of patience,
 
 T.Eiiwood.j j s TUTOR TO i, PENINGTON'S CHILDREN. 141 
 
 by men who were incapable of telling a lie or of intentionally breaking their 
 word. 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN'S imprisonment at this time was much of the same kind as 
 ELLWOOD's,assoonasthe Keeper of Bedford gaol found hecould trust him.] 
 
 Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my friends, 
 that were still in prison : and, more particularly, my friend 
 and benefactor, WILLIAM PENINGTON, at his house; and 
 then, went to wait upon my Master, MILTON. With whom, 
 yet, I could not propose to enter upon my intermitted studies, 
 until I had been in Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy 
 friends, ISAAC PENINGTON and his virtuous wife, with other 
 friends in that country [district or county]. 
 
 Thither, therefore, I betook myself; and the weather being 
 frosty, and the ways by that means clean and good ; I walked 
 it through in a day : and was received by my friends there, 
 with such demonstration of hearty kindness, as made my 
 journey very easy to me. 
 
 I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance ; and 
 therefore purposed, after I had stayed a few days, to return 
 to my lodging and former course [i.e., of reading to MlLTON] 
 in London. But Providence ordered otherwise. 
 
 ISAAC PENINGTON had, at that time, two sons and one 
 daughter, all then very young : of whom, the eldest son, JOHN 
 PENINGTON, and the daughter, MARY (the wife of DANIEL 
 WHARLEY), are yet living at the writing of this [? 1713]. 
 And being himself both skilful and curious inpronounciation; 
 he was very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudi- 
 ments of the English tongue. To which end, he had sent for 
 a man, out of Lancashire, whom, upon inquiry, he had heard 
 of; who was, undoubtedly, the most accurate English teacher, 
 that ever I met with or have heard of. His name was 
 RICHARD BRADLEY. But as he pretended no higher than 
 the English tongue, and had led them, by grammar rules, to 
 the highest improvement they were capable of, in that ; he 
 had then taken his leave, and was gone up to London, to 
 teach an English school of Friends' children there. 
 
 This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought for a 
 new teacher to instruct his children in the Latin tongue, as 
 the old had done in the English : but had not yet found one. 
 Wherefore, one evening, as we sate together by the fire, in 
 his bedchamber, which, for want of health, he kept : he
 
 142 STAYS WITH THE PENINGTONS TILL 1669. [7 f l1 ^ 
 
 asked me, his wife being by, " If I would be so kind to him, 
 as to stay a while with him ; till he could hear of such a 
 man as he aimed at: and, in the meantime, enter his children 
 in the rudiments of the Latin tongue ? " 
 
 This question was not more unexpected, than surprising 
 to me ; and the more, because it seemed directly to thwart 
 my former purpose and undertaking, of endeavouring to 
 improve myself, by following my studies with my Master, 
 MILTON : which this would give, at least, a present diversion 
 from ; and, for how long, I could not foresee. 
 
 But the sense I had, of the manifold obligations I lay 
 under to these worthy friends of mine, shut out all reason- 
 ings ; and disposed my mind to an absolute resignation to 
 their desire, that I might testify my gratitude by a willing- 
 ness to do them any friendly service, that I could be capable 
 of. 
 
 And though I questioned my ability to carry on that work 
 to its due height and proportion ; yet, as that was not pro- 
 posed, but an initiation only by Accidence into Grammar, I 
 consented to the proposal, as a present expedient, till a more 
 qualified person should be found : without further treaty or 
 mention of terms between us, than that of mutual friendship. 
 
 And to render this digression from my own studies, the 
 less uneasy to my mind ; I recollected, and often thought of, 
 that Rule of LILLY 
 
 Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset, 
 ipse brevi reliquis, doctior esse queat. 
 
 He that th'unlearned doth teach, may quickly be 
 More learned than they, though most unlearned he. 
 
 With this consideration, I undertook this province ; and 
 left it not until I married : which was not till [the zSth October 
 in] the year 1669, near[ly] seven years from the time I came 
 thither. 
 
 In which time, having the use of my friend's books, as 
 well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours much in reading; 
 not without some improvement to myself in my private 
 studies : which (with the good success of my labours 
 bestowed on the children, and the agreeableness of con-
 
 OUTRAGE BY JUSTICE BENNET, i JULY 1665. J 43 
 
 versation which I found in the family) rendered my under- 
 taking more satisfactory ; and my stay there more easy to 
 
 me. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Although the storm raised by the Act for Banishment [16 
 Car. II. c. 4. 1664], fell with the greatest weight and force 
 upon some other parts, as at London, Hertford, &c.: yet were 
 we, in Buckinghamshire, not wholly exempted therefrom. 
 For a part of that shower reached us also. 
 
 For a Friend, of Amersham, whose name was EDWARD 
 PEROT or PARRET, departing this life ; and notice being given, 
 that his body would be buried there on such a day (which 
 was the First Day of the Fifth Month [July], 1665) : the 
 Friends of the adjacent parts of the country, resorted pretty 
 generally to the burial. So that there was a fair appearance 
 of Friends and neighbours ; the deceased having been well 
 beloved by both. 
 
 After we had spent some time together, in the house 
 (MORGAN WATKINS, who, at that time, happened to be at 
 ISAAC PENINGTON'S, being with us) ; the body was taken 
 up, and borne on Friends' shoulders, along the street, in 
 order to be carried to the burying-ground : which was at the 
 town's end; being part of an orchard belonging to the 
 deceased, which he, in his lifetime, had appointed for that 
 service. 
 
 It so happened, that one AMBROSE BENNET, a Barrister at 
 Law, and a Justice of the Peace for that county, was riding 
 through the town [of Amersham] that morning, in his way 
 to Aylesbury : and was, by some ill-disposed person or other, 
 informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there that 
 day ; and that most of the Quakers in the country [county] 
 were come thither to the burial. 
 
 Upon this, he set up his horses, and stayed. And when 
 we, not knowing anything of his design against us, went 
 innocently forward to perform our Christian duty, for the 
 interment of our Friend ; he rushed out of his Inn upon us, 
 with the Constables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he 
 had gathered together : and, having his drawn sword in his 
 hand, struck one of the foremost of the bearers, with it ; 
 commanding them " To set down the coffin ! " But the Friend, 
 who was so stricken, whose name was THOMAS DELL (being
 
 144 TEN FRIENDS SENT TO AYLESBURY GAOL ; 
 
 Iwood. 
 
 1713- 
 
 more concerned for the safety of the dead body than his own, 
 lest it should fall from his shoulder, and any indecency 
 thereupon follow) held the coffin fast. Which the Justice 
 observing, and being enraged that his word (how unjust 
 soever) was not forthwith obeyed, set his hand to the coffin; 
 and, with a forcible thrust, threw it off the bearers' shoulders, 
 so that it fell to the ground, in the midst of the street : and 
 there, we were forced to leave it. 
 
 For, immediately thereupon, the Justice giving command 
 for the apprehending us ; the Constables with the rabble fell 
 on us, and drew some, and drove others in the Inn : giving 
 thereby an opportunity to the rest, to walk away. 
 
 Of those that were thus taken, I was one. And being, 
 with many more, put into a room, under a guard ; we were 
 kept there, till another Justice, called Sir THOMAS CLAYTON, 
 whom Justice BENNET had sent for, to join with him in 
 committing us, was come. 
 
 And then, being called forth severally before them, they 
 picked out ten of us ; and committed us to Aylesbury gaol : for 
 what, neither we, nor they knew. For we were not convicted 
 of having either done or said anything, which the law could 
 take hold of. 
 
 For they took us up in the open street, the King's high- 
 way, not doing any unlawful act; but peaceably carrying 
 and accompanying the corpse of our deceased Friend, to 
 bury it. Which they would not suffer us to do ; but caused 
 the body to lie in the open street, and in the cartway: so 
 that all the travellers that passed by (whether horsemen, 
 coaches, carts, or waggons) were fain to break out of the way, 
 to go by it, that they might not drive over it ; until it was 
 almost night. And then, having caused a grave to be made 
 in the unconsecrated part, as it is accounted, of that which 
 is called the Church Yard : they forcibly took the body from 
 the widow (whose right and property it was), and buried it 
 there. 
 
 When the Justices had delivered us prisoners to the Con- 
 stable, it being then late in the day, which was the seventh 
 day of the week : he (not willing to go so far as Aylesbury, 
 nine long miles, with us, that night ; nor to put the town [of 
 Amersham] to the charge of keeping us, there, that night and
 
 WHICH THEY ENTER ON THE 3RD JULY 1665. 145 
 
 the First day and night following) dismissed us, upon our 
 parole, to come to him again at a set hour, on the Second day 
 morning. 
 
 Whereupon, we all went home to our respective habita- 
 tions ; and coming to him punctually [on Monday, yd July, 
 1665] according to promise, were by him, without guard, 
 conducted to the Prison. 
 
 The Gaoler, whose name was NATHANIEL BIRCH, had, not 
 long before, behaved himself very wickedly, with great rude- 
 ness and cruelty, to some of our Friends of the lower side of 
 the country [i.e., Buckinghamshire}', whom he, combining with 
 the Clerk of the Peace, whose name was HENRY WELLS, had 
 contrived to get into his gaol : and after they were legally 
 discharged in Court, detained them in prison, using great 
 violence, and shutting them up close in the Common Gaol 
 among the felons ; because they would not give him his un- 
 righteous demand of Fees, which they were the more strait- 
 ened in, from his treacherous dealing with them. And they 
 having, through suffering, maintained their freedom, and 
 obtained their liberty : we were the more concerned to keep 
 what they had so hardly gained ; and therefore resolved not 
 to make any contract or terms for either Chamber Rent or 
 Fees, but to demand a Free Prison. Which we did. 
 
 When we came in, the gaoler was ridden out to wait on 
 the Judges, who came in, that day [$rd July, 1665], to begin 
 the Assize ; and his wife was somewhat at a loss, how to 
 deal with us. But being a cunning woman, she treated us 
 with a great appearance of courtesy, offering us the choice of 
 all her rooms; and when we asked, " Upon what terms ? " 
 she still referred us to her husband ; telling us, she " did not 
 doubt, but that he would be very reasonable and civil to us." 
 Thus, she endeavoured to have drawn us to take possession 
 of some of her chambers, at a venture; and trust to her 
 husband's kind usage : but, we, who, at the cost of our 
 Friends, had a proof of his kindness, were too wary to be 
 drawn in by the fair words of a woman : and therefore told 
 her, " We would not settle anywhere till her husband came 
 home ; and then would have a Free Prison, wheresoever he 
 put us." 
 
 Accordingly, walking all together into the court of the 
 
 K 7
 
 146 SIR W. MORTON REVILES THEM. [ T -f 
 
 Ellwood. 
 1713. 
 
 prison, in which was a well of very good water ; and having, 
 beforehand, sent to a Friend in the town, a widow woman, 
 whose name was SARAH LAMBARN, to bring us some bread 
 and cheese : we sate down upon the ground round about the 
 well ; and when we had eaten, we drank of the water out of 
 the well. 
 
 Our great concern was for our Friend, ISAAC PENINGTON, 
 because of the tenderness of his constitution : but he was so 
 lively in his spirit, and so cheerfully given up to suffer ; that 
 he rather encouraged us, than needed any encouragement 
 from us. 
 
 In this posture, the gaoler, when he came home, found us. 
 And having, before he came to us, consulted his wife ; and 
 by her, understood on what terms we stood : when he came 
 to us, he hid his teeth, and putting on a shew of kindness, 
 seemed much troubled that we should sit there abroad [in the 
 open air], especially his old friend, Mr. PENINGTON; and 
 thereupon, invited us to come in, and take what rooms in his 
 house we pleased. We asked, " Upon what terms ? " letting 
 him know, withal, that we were determined to have a Free 
 Prison. 
 
 He (like the Sun and the Wind, in the fable, that strove 
 which of them should take from the traveller, his cloak) hav- 
 ing, like the wind, tried rough, boisterous, violent means to our 
 Friends before, but in vain ; resolved now to imitate the Sun, 
 and shine as pleasantly as he could upon us. Wherefore, 
 he told us, " We should make the terms ourselves ; and be 
 as free as we desired. If we thought fit, when we were 
 released, to give him anything ; he would thank us for it : 
 and if not, he would demand nothing." 
 
 Upon these terms, we went in : and dispose ourselves, 
 some in the dwelling-house, others in the malt-house : where 
 they chose to be. 
 
 During the Assize, we were brought before Judge MORTON 
 [Sir WILLIAM MORTON, Recorder of Gloucester], a sour angry 
 man, who [being an old Cavalier Officer, naturally,] very rudely 
 reviled us, but would not hear either us or the cause ; refer- 
 ring the matter to the two Justices, who had committed us. 
 
 They, when the Assize was ended, sent for us, to be
 
 E ?Tt] WHILE IN GAOL; MILTON COMES TO CHALFONT. 147 
 
 brought before them, at their Inn [at Aylesbury] ; and fined 
 us, as I remember, 6s. 8d. a piece : which we not consent- 
 ing to pay, they committed us to prison again, for one 
 month from that time; on the Act for Banishment. 
 
 When we had lain there that month [i.e., not later than the 
 middle of August, 1665], I, with another, went to the gaoler, 
 to demand our liberty : which he readily granted, telling us, 
 " The door should be opened, when we pleased to go." 
 
 This answer of his, I reported to the rest of my Friends 
 there ; and, thereupon, we raised among us a small sum of 
 money, which they put into my hand, for the gaoler. Where- 
 upon, I, taking another with me, went to the gaoler, with 
 the money in my hand; and reminding him of the terms, 
 upon which we accepted the use of his rooms, I told him, 
 " That though we could not pay Chamber Rent nor Fees, 
 yet inasmuch as he had now been civil to us, we were will- 
 ing to acknowledge it by a small token " : and thereupon, 
 gave him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, 
 " I thank you, and your Friends for it ! and to let you see 
 that I take it as a gift, not a debt ; I will not look on it, to 
 see how much it is." 
 
 The prison door being then set open for us ; we went out, 
 
 and departed to our respective homes. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison [on $rd 
 July, 1665], I was desired by my quondam Master, MILTON, 
 to take a house for him in the neighbourhood where I dwelt ; 
 that he might get out of the City, for the safety of himself 
 and his family : the Pestilence then growing hot in London. 
 
 I took a pretty box for him [i.e., in June, 1665] in Giles- 
 Chalfont [Chalfont St. Giles], a mile from me [ELLWOOD was 
 then living in ISAAC PENINGTON'S house, called The Grange, 
 at Chalfont St. Peter ; or Peter's Chalfont, as he calls it], of which, 
 I gave him notice : and intended to have waited on him, and 
 seen him well settled in it ; but was prevented by that im- 
 prisonment. [Therefore MILTON did not come into Buckingham- 
 shire at this time, till after the ^rd July, 1665.] 
 
 But, now [i.e., not later than the middle of August, 1665], 
 being released, and returned home ; I soon made a visit to 
 him, to welcome him into the country [county].
 
 148 ELLWOOD SUGGESTS PARADISE FOUND, i665.[ T -J 
 
 EHwwxL 
 1713. 
 
 After some common discourses had passed between us 
 [evidently at ELLWOOD' s first visit], he called for a manuscript 
 of his : which being brought, he delivered to me; bidding me, 
 " Take it home with me, and read it at my leisure ; and, 
 when I had so done, return it to him, with my judgement 
 thereupon ! " 
 
 When I came home [i.e., The Grange; from which ISAAC 
 PENINGTON, with his family (including THOMAS ELLWOOD) 
 was, by military force, expelled about a month after their first 
 return from Ayksbury gaol (i.e., about the middle of September) ; 
 and he again sent to the same prison], and had set myself to 
 read it ; I found it was that excellent poem, which he en- 
 titled, Paradise Lost. 
 
 After I had, with the best attention, read it through : I 
 made him another visit, and returned him his book ; with 
 due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me, in com- 
 municating it to me. 
 
 He asked me, " How I liked it ? And what I thought of 
 it ? " Which I, modestly but freely, told him. 
 
 And, after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly 
 said to him, " Thou hast said much, here, of Paradise lost : 
 but what hast thou to say of Paradise found ? 
 
 He made me no answer; but sate some time in a muse: 
 then brake off that discourse, and fell upon another subject. 
 
 After the sickness [Plague] was over ; and the City well 
 cleansed, and become safely habitable again: he returned 
 thither. 
 
 And when, afterwards [probably in 1668 or 1669], I went to 
 wait on him there (which I seldom failed of doing, whenever 
 my occasions drew me to London), he showed me his second 
 poem, called Paradise Regained : and, in a pleasant tone, said 
 to me, " This is owing to you ! For you put it into my 
 head, by the question you put to me at Chalfont ! which, be- 
 fore, I had not thought of." 
 
 {Paradise Regained was licensed for publication on 2nd July, 1670.]
 
 : ADVICE 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNG REVIEWER, 
 
 WI TH A 
 
 SPECIMEN OF THE ART. 
 
 OXFORD: 
 
 SOLD BY J. PARKER AND J. COOKE; 
 AND BY 
 
 F. C AND J. RIVINGTON, ST. PAUL'S 
 CHURCHYARD, LONDON. 
 
 1807.
 
 ADVICE 
 
 YOUNG REVIEWER, &c. 
 
 Ou are now about to enter on a Profession 
 which has the means of doing much good 
 to society, and scarcely any temptation to do 
 harm. You may encourage Genius, you may 
 chastise superficial Arrogance, expose False- 
 hood, correct Error, and guide the Taste and 
 Opinions of the Age in no small degree by the books 
 you praise and recommend. And this too may be done 
 without running the risk of making any enemies ; or sub- 
 jecting yourself to be called to account for your criticism, 
 however severe. While your name is unknown, your person 
 is invulnerable : at the same time your aim is sure, for you 
 may take it at your leisure ; and your blows fall heavier 
 than those of any Writer whose name is given, or who is 
 simply anonymous. There is a mysterious authority in the 
 plural, We, which no single name, whatever may be its 
 reputation, can acquire ; and, under the sanction of this 
 imposing style, your strictures, your praises, and your 
 dogmas, will command universal attention ; and be received 
 as the fruit of united talents, acting on one common 
 principle as the judgments of a tribunal who decide only 
 on mature deliberation, and who protect the interests of 
 Literature with unceasing vigilance. 
 
 Such being the high importance of that Office, and such 
 its opportunities ; I cannot bestow a few hours of leisure 
 better than in furnishing you with some hints for the more
 
 152 WRITE WHAT WILL SELL! [ 
 
 easy and effectual discharge of it : hints which are, I 
 confess, loosely thrown together ; but which are the result 
 of long experience, and of frequent reflection and com- 
 parison. And if anything should strike you, at first sight, as 
 rather equivocal in point of morality, or deficient in liberality 
 and feeling ; I beg you will suppress all such scruples, 
 and consider them as the offspring of a contracted educa- 
 tion and narrow way of thinking, which a little inter- 
 course with the World and sober reasoning will speedily 
 overcome. 
 
 Now as in the conduct of life nothing is more to be 
 desired than some Governing Principle of action, to which 
 all other principles and motives must be made subservient ; 
 so in the Art of Reviewing I would lay down as a funda- 
 mental position, which you must never lose sight of, and 
 which must be the mainspring of all your criticisms 
 Write what will sell! To this Golden Rule every minor 
 canon must be subordinate ; and must be either immediately 
 deducible from it, or at least be made consistent with 
 it 
 
 Be not staggered at the sound of a precept which, upon 
 examination, will be found as honest and virtuous as it 
 is discreet. I have already sketched out the great services 
 which it is in your power to render mankind ; but all 
 your efforts will be unavailing if men did not read what 
 you write. Your utility therefore, it is plain, depends upon 
 your popularity ; and popularity cannot be attained without 
 humouring the taste and inclinations of men. 
 
 Be assured that, by a similar train of sound and judicious 
 reasoning, the consciences of thousands in public life are 
 daily quieted. It is better for the State that their Party 
 should govern than any other. The good which they can 
 effect by the exercise of power is infinitely greater than 
 any which could arise from a rigid adherence to certain 
 subordinate moral precepts ; which therefore should be 
 violated without scruple whenever they stand in the way of 
 their leading purpose. He who sticks at these can never 
 act a great part in the World, and is not fit to act it if he 
 could. Such maxims may be very useful in ordinary 
 affairs, and ' for the guidance of ordinary men : but when
 
 Bp. E. Coplestone.-J f OLLOlv PUBLIC TASTE, NOT GUIDE IT ! 153 
 
 we mount into the sphere of public utility, we must adopt 
 more enlarged principles ; and not suffer ourselves to be 
 cramped and fettered by petty notions of Right and Moral 
 Duty. 
 
 When you have reconciled yourself to this liberal way 
 of thinking ; you will find many inferior advantages resulting 
 from it, which at first did not enter into your consideration. 
 In particular, it will greatly lighten your labours, to follow 
 the public taste, instead of taking upon you to direct it. 
 The task of Pleasing is at all times easier than that of 
 Instructing : at least it does not stand in need of painful 
 research and preparation ; and may be effected in general 
 by a little vivacity of manner, and a dexterous morigeration 
 [compliance, or obsequiousness^ as Lord BACON calls it, to 
 the humours and frailties of men. Your responsibility too 
 is thereby much lessened. Justice and Candour can only 
 be required of you so far as they coincide with this Main 
 Principle : and a little experience will convince you that these 
 are not the happiest means of accomplishing your purpose. 
 It has been idly said, That a Reviewer acts in a judicial 
 capacity, and that his conduct should be regulated by the 
 same rules by which the Judge of a Civil Court is governed : 
 that he should rid himself of every bias ; be patient, cautious, 
 sedate, and rigidly impartial ; that he should not seek to 
 shew off himself, and should check every disposition to 
 enter into the case as a partizan. 
 
 Such is the language of superficial thinkers ; but in reality 
 there is no analogy between the two cases. A Judge is 
 promoted to that office by the authority of the State; a 
 Reviewer by his own. The former is independent of 
 control, and may therefore freely follow the dictates of 
 his own conscience: the latter depends for his very bread 
 upon the breath of public opinion ; the great law of self- 
 preservation therefore points out to him a different line 
 of action. Besides, as we have already observed, if he ceases 
 to please, he is no longer read ; and consequently is no 
 longer useful. In a Court of Justice, too, the part of 
 amusing the bystanders rests with the Counsel : in the case 
 of criticism, if the Reviewer himself does not undertake 
 it, who will ?
 
 154 THE ARTS OF QUIZZING AND BANTER. [ Bp - E - 
 
 Instead of vainly aspiring to the gravity of a Magistrate ; 
 I would advise him, when he sits down to write, to place 
 himself in the imaginary situation of a cross-examining 
 Pleader. He may comment, in a vain of agreeable irony, 
 upon the profession, the manner of life, the look, dress, 
 or even the name, of the witness he is examining : when 
 he has raised a contemptuous opinion of him in the minds 
 of the Court, he may proceed to draw answers from him 
 capable of a ludicrous turn ; and he may carve and garble 
 these to his own liking. 
 
 This mode of proceeding you will find most practicable in 
 Poetry, where the boldness of the image or the delicacy 
 of thought (for which the Reader's mind was prepared 
 in the original) will easily be made to appear extravagant, or 
 affected, if judiciously singled out, and detached from the 
 group to which it belongs. Again, since much depends 
 upon the rhythm and the terseness of expression (both 
 of which are sometimes destroyed by dropping a single 
 word, or transposing a phrase), I have known much advant- 
 age arise from not quoting in the form of a literal extract : 
 but giving a brief summary in prose, of the contents 
 of a poetical passage ; and interlarding your own language, 
 with occasional phrases of the Poem marked with inverted 
 commas. 
 
 These, and a thousand other little expedients, by which 
 the arts of Quizzing and Banter flourish, practice will 
 soon teach you. If it should be necessary to transcribe 
 a dull passage, not very fertile in topics of humour and 
 raillery ; you may introduce it as a " favourable specimen 
 of the Author's manner." 
 
 Few people are aware of the powerful effects of what is 
 philosophically termed Association. Without any positive 
 violation of truth, the whole dignity of a passage may be 
 undermined by contriving to raise some vulgar and ridic- 
 ulous notions in the mind of the reader : and language 
 teems with examples of words by which the same idea 
 is expressed, with the difference only that one excites a 
 feeling of respect, the other of contempt. Thus you may 
 call a fit of melancholy, "the sulks"; resentment, "a pet"; 
 a steed, "a nag"; a feast, "a junketing"; sorrow and
 
 Bp. E. Cople.tone.-j How TO CUT UP BOOKS OF TRAVEL. 155 
 
 affliction, "whining and blubbering". By transferring the 
 terms peculiar to one state of society, to analogous situations 
 and characters in another, the same object is attained. 
 " A Drill Serjeant" or "a Cat and Nine Tails" in the Trojan 
 War, "a Lesbos smack putting into the Piraeus," "the 
 Penny Post of Jerusalem," and other combinations of the 
 like nature which, when you have a little indulged in that 
 vein of thought, will readily suggest themselves, never fail 
 to raise a smile, if not immediately at the expense of the 
 Author, yet entirely destructive of that frame of mind which 
 his Poem requires in order to be relished. 
 
 I have dwelt the longer on this branch of Literature, 
 because you are chiefly to look here for materials of fun 
 and irony. 
 
 Voyages and Travels indeed are no barren ground ; and 
 you must seldom let a Number of your Review go abroad 
 without an Article of this description. The charm of this 
 species of writing, so universally felt, arises chiefly from 
 its uniting Narrative with Information. The interest we 
 take in the story can only be kept alive by minute incident 
 and occasional detail ; which puts us in possession of the 
 traveller's feelings, his hopes, his fears, his disappointments, 
 and his pleasures. At the same time the thirst for know- 
 ledge and love of novelty is gratified by continual informa- 
 tion respecting the people and countries he visits. 
 
 If you wish therefore to run down the book, you have 
 only to play off these two parts against each other. When 
 the Writer's object is to satisfy the first inclination, you 
 are to thank him for communicating to the World such 
 valuable facts as, whether he lost his way in the night, 
 or sprained his ankle, or had no appetite for his dinner. 
 If he is busied about describing the Mineralogy, Natural 
 History, Agriculture, Trade, etc. of a country : you may 
 mention a hundred books from whence the same information 
 may be obtained ; and deprecate the practice of emptying 
 old musty Folios into new Quartos, to gratify that sickly 
 taste for a smattering about everything which distinguishes 
 the present Age. 
 
 In Works of Science and recondite Learning, the task
 
 156 Do NOT TOUCH WORKS OF RESEARCH! [ Bp - 
 
 you have undertaken will not be so difficult as you may 
 imagine. Tables of Contents and Indexes are blessed 
 helps in the hands of a Reviewer ; but, more than all, the 
 Preface is the field from which his richest harvest is to 
 be gathered. 
 
 In the Preface, the Author usually gives a summary 
 of what has been written on the same subject before ; 
 he acknowledges the assistance he has received from 
 different sources, and the reasons of his dissent from former 
 Writers ; he confesses that certain parts have been less 
 attentively considered than others, and that information 
 has come to his hands too late to be made use of; he 
 points out many things in the composition of his Work 
 which he thinks may provoke animadversion, and endeavours 
 to defend or palliate his own practice. 
 
 Here then is a fund of wealth for the Reviewer, lying 
 upon the very surface. If he knows anything of his 
 business, he will turn all these materials against the Author : 
 carefully suppressing the source of his information ; and 
 as if drawing from the stores of his own mind long ago 
 laid up for this very purpose. If the Author's references 
 are correct, a great point is gained ; for by consulting a 
 few passages of the original Works, it will be easy to 
 discuss the subject with the air of having a previous know- 
 ledge of the whole. 
 
 Your chief vantage ground is, That you may fasten 
 upon any position in the book you are reviewing, and 
 treat it as principal and essential ; when perhaps it is of 
 little weight in the main argument : but, by allotting a 
 large share of your criticism to it, the reader will naturally 
 be led to give it a proportionate importance, and to consider 
 the merit of the Treatise at issue upon that single question. 
 
 If anybody complains that the greater and more valuable 
 parts remain unnoticed ; your answer is, That it is impossible 
 to pay attention to all ; and that your duty is rather to 
 prevent the propagation of error, than to lavish praises 
 upon that which, if really excellent, will work its way 
 in the World without your help. 
 
 Indeed, if the plan of your Review admits of selection, 
 you had better not meddle with Works of deep research 
 and original speculation ; such as have already attracted
 
 Bp. E. Co P lestone.-J I NCO MPATIBLE QUALITIES IN STYLE. 157 
 
 much notice, and cannot be treated superficially without 
 fear of being found out. The time required for making 
 yourself thoroughly master of the subject is so great, that 
 you may depend upon it they will never pay for the 
 reviewing. They are generally the fruit of long study, 
 and of talents concentrated in the steady pursuit of one 
 object : it is not likely therefore that you can throw much 
 new light on a question of this nature, or even plausibly 
 combat the Author's propositions ; in the course of a few 
 hours, which is all you can well afford to devote to them. 
 And without accomplishing one or the other of these points ; 
 your Review will gain no celebrity, and of course no good 
 will be done. 
 
 Enough has been said to give you some insight into 
 the facilities with which your new employment abounds. 
 I will only mention one more, because of its extensive 
 and almost universal application to all Branches of Litera- 
 ture ; the topic, I mean, which by the old Rhetoricians 
 was called e'f evavriw, That is, when a Work excels in 
 one quality ; you may blame it for not having the 
 opposite. 
 
 For instance, if the biographical sketch of a Literary 
 Character is minute and full of anecdote ; you may enlarge 
 on the advantages of philosophical reflection, and the 
 superior mind required to give a judicious analysis of the 
 Opinions and Works of deceased Authors. On the contrary, 
 if the latter method is pursued by the Biographer ; you 
 can, with equal ease, extol the lively colouring, and truth, 
 and interest, of exact delineation and detail. 
 
 This topic, you will perceive, enters into Style as well 
 as Matter ; where many virtues might be named which 
 are incompatible : and whichever the Author has preferred, 
 it will be the signal for you to launch forth on the praises 
 of its opposite ; and continually to hold up that to your 
 Reader as the model of excellence in this species of Writing. 
 
 You will perhaps wonder why all my instructions are 
 pointed towards the Censure, and not the Praise, of Books ; 
 but many reasons might be given why it should be so. 
 The thief are, that this part is both easier, and will sell better.
 
 158 SECONDARY SPRINGS OF ACTION. [ Bp> E< Cople *! 
 
 Let us hear the words of Mr BURKE on a subject not 
 very dissimilar : 
 
 "In such cases," says he, " the Writer has a certain fire 
 and alacrity inspired into him by a consciousness that 
 (let it fare how it will with the subject) his ingenuity will 
 be sure of applause : and this alacrity becomes much greater, 
 if he acts upon the offensive ; by the impetuosity that 
 always accompanies an attack, and the unfortunate pro- 
 pensity which mankind have to finding and exaggerating 
 faults." Pref., Vindic. Nat. Soc., p. 6. 
 
 You will perceive that I have on no occasion sanctioned 
 the baser motives of private pique, envy, revenge, and 
 love of detraction. At least I have not recommended 
 harsh treatment upon any of these grounds. I have argued 
 simply on the abstract moral principle which a Reviewer 
 should ever have present to his mind : but if any of these 
 motives insinuate themselves as secondary springs of action, 
 I would not condemn them. They may come in aid of 
 the grand Leading Principle, and powerfully second its 
 operation. 
 
 But it is time to close these tedious precepts, and to 
 furnish you with, what speaks plainer than any precept, 
 a Specimen of the Art itself, in which several of them 
 are embodied. It is hastily done : but it exemplifies well 
 enough what I have said of the Poetical department ; and 
 exhibits most of those qualities which disappointed Authors 
 are fond of railing at, under the names of Flippancy, 
 Arrogance, Conceit, Misrepresentation, and Malevolence : 
 reproaches which you will only regard as so many acknow- 
 ledgments of success in your undertaking ; and infallible 
 tests of an established fame, and [a] rapidly increasing 
 circulation.
 
 159 
 
 L? Allegro. A Poem. 
 
 By JOHN MILTON. 
 No Printer's name. 
 
 JT has become a practice of late with a certain 
 description of people, who have no visible means 
 of subsistence, to string together a few trite 
 images of rural scenery, interspersed with 
 vulgarisms in dialect, and traits of vulgar 
 manners ; to dress up these materials in a Sing- Song jingle ; 
 and to offer them for sale as a Poem. According to the most 
 approved recipes, something about the heathen gods and god- 
 desses ; and the schoolboy topics of Styx and Cerberus, and 
 Elysium ; are occasionally thrown in, and the composition is 
 complete. The stock in trade of these Adventurers is in general 
 scanty enough ; and their Art therefore consists in disposing 
 it to the best advantage. But if such be the aim of the Writer, 
 it is the Critic's business to detect and defeat the imposture ; 
 to warn the public against the purchase of shop-worn goods 
 and tinsel wares ; to protect the fair trader, by exposing 
 the tricks of needy Quacks and Mountebanks ; and to 
 chastise that forward and noisy importunity with which 
 they present themselves to the public notice. 
 
 How far Mr. MILTON is amenable to this discipline, 
 will best appear from a brief analysis of the Poem before us. 
 In the very opening he assumes a tone of authority 
 which might better suit some veteran Bard than a raw 
 candidate for the Delphic bays : for, before he proceeds 
 to the regular process of Invocation, he clears the way, 
 by driving from his presence (with sundry hard names ; 
 and bitter reproaches on her father, mother, and all the 
 family) a venerable Personage, whose age at least and 
 staid matron-like appearance, might have entitled her to 
 more civil language. 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy ! 
 
 Of CERBERUS and blackest Midnight born, 
 
 In Stygian cave forlorn, &c.
 
 160 A MOCK CRITICISM OF L ALLEGRO. [ Bp - E< 
 
 There is no giving rules, however, in these matters, without 
 a knowledge of the case. Perhaps the old lady had been 
 frequently warned off before ; and provoked this violence 
 by continuing still to lurk about the Poet's dwelling. And, 
 to say the truth, the Reader will have but too good reason 
 to remark, before he gets through the Poem, that it is one 
 thing to tell the Spirit of Dulness to depart ; and another to 
 get rid of her in reality. Like GLENDOWER's Spirits, any 
 one may order them away ; " but will they go, when you do 
 order them ? " 
 
 But let us suppose for a moment that the Parnassian 
 decree is obeyed ; and, according to the letter of the Order 
 (which is as precise and wordy as if Justice SHALLOW 
 himself had drawn it) that the obnoxious female is sent back 
 to the place of her birth, 
 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, shrieks, sights, &c. 
 At which we beg our fair readers not to be alarmed ; for 
 we can assure them they are only words of course in all 
 poetical Instruments of this nature, and mean no more 
 than the " force and arms " and " instigation of the Devil " 
 in a common Indictment. 
 
 This nuisance then being abated ; we are left at liberty 
 to contemplate a character of a different complexion, 
 " buxom, blithe, and debonair " : one who, although evidently 
 a great favourite of the Poet's and therefore to be received 
 with all due courtesy, is notwithstanding introduced under 
 the suspicious description of an alias. 
 
 In heaven, ycleped EUPHROSYNE ; 
 
 And by men, heart-easing Mirth. 
 
 Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this 
 gay Nymph ; one might guess there were good reasons for 
 a change of name as she changed her residence. 
 
 But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of 
 slanderous insinuation. We shall therefore confine our 
 moral strictures to the Nymph's mother ; in whose defence 
 the Poet has little to say himself. Here too, as in the case 
 of the name, there is some doubt. For the uncertainty 
 of descent on the Father's side having become trite to a 
 proverb ; the Author, scorning that beaten track, has
 
 up. CopUstone. J [ NSINU ATION DISCLAIMED ; BUT ADOPTED. l6l 
 
 left us to choose between two mothers for his favourite T 
 and without much to guide our choice ; for, whichever 
 we fix upon, it is plain she was no better than she 
 should be. As he seems however himself inclined to 
 the latter of the two, we will even suppose it so to be. 
 Or whether (as some sager say) 
 The frolic wind that breathes the Spring^ 
 ZEPHYR with AURORA playing, 
 As he met her once a Maying ; 
 There on beds of violets blue, 
 And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, &c. 
 Some dull people might imagine that the wind was more 
 like the breath of Spring \ than Spring, the breath of the 
 wind: but we are more disposed to question the Author's 
 Ethics than his Physics ; and accordingly cannot dismiss 
 these May gambols without some observations. 
 
 In the first place, Mr. M. seems to have higher notions 
 of the antiquity of the May Pole than we have been 
 accustomed to attach to it. Or perhaps he sought to 
 shelter the equivocal nature of this affair under that 
 sanction. To us, however, who can hardly subscribe to 
 the doctrine that "Vice loses half its evil by losing all 
 its grossness " ; neither the remoteness of time, nor the 
 gaiety of the season, furnishes a sufficient palliation. 
 " Violets blue " and " fresh-blown roses " are, to be sure, 
 more agreeable objects of the Imagination than a gin shop 
 in "Wapping or a booth in Bartholomew Fair ; but, in point 
 of morality, these are distinctions without a difference : 
 or it may be the cultivation of mind (which teaches us to 
 reject and nauseate these latter objects) aggravates the case, 
 if our improvement in taste be not accompanied by a pro- 
 portionate improvement of morals. 
 
 If the Reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of 
 principle, the anachronism will not long stand in his way. 
 Much indeed may be said in favour of this union of ancient 
 Mythology with modern notions and manners. It is a 
 sort of chronological metaphor an artificial analogy, by 
 which ideas, widely remote and heterogeneous, are brought 
 into contact ; and the mind is delighted by this unexpected 
 assemblage, as it is by the combinations of figurative 
 language. 
 
 L 7
 
 1 62 MOCK QUOTATION FROM BEN JoNSON. [ B P- E -Coplestone- 
 
 Thus in that elegant Interlude, which the pen of BEN 
 JONSON has transmitted to us, of the loves of HERO and 
 LEANDER : 
 
 Gentles, that no longer your expectations may wander, 
 Behold our chief actor, amorous LEANDER ! 
 With a great deal of cloth, lapped about him like a scarf : 
 For he yet serves his father, a Dyer in Puddle Wharf : 
 Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus ; 
 As the Bankside is our Sestos, and let it not be denied us. 
 And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable 
 a liberty ; especially if the request be backed (as it is in 
 the case of Mr. M.) by the craving and imperious necessities 
 of rhyme. What man who has ever bestrode Pegasus for 
 an hour, will be insensible to such a claim ? 
 
 Hand ignara malt miseris succurrere disco. 
 
 We are next favoured with an enumeration of the 
 Attendants of this " debonair " Nymph, in all the minute- 
 ness of a German Dramatis Persona, or a Ropedancer's 
 Handbill. 
 
 Haste thee, Nymph ; and bring with thee 
 
 Jest and youthful Jollity, 
 
 Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, 
 
 Nods and becks and wreathed smiles, 
 
 Such as hang on HEBE'S cheek 
 
 And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
 
 And Laughter holding both his sides. 
 The Author, to prove himself worthy of being admitted 
 of the crew, skips and capers about upon " the light 
 fantastic toe," that there is no following him. He scampers 
 through all the Categories, in search of his imaginary 
 beings, from Substance to Quality, and back again ; from 
 thence to Action, Passion, Habit, &c. with incredible 
 celerity. Who, for instance, would have expected cranks, 
 nods, becks, and wreathed smiles as part of a group in 
 which Jest, Jollity, Sport, and Laughter figure away as 
 full-formed entire Personages ? The family likeness is 
 certainly very strong in die two last ; and if we had 
 not been told, we should perhaps have thought the 
 act of deriding as appropriate to Laughter as to Sport
 
 Bp. E. Coplestone. J LAXITY OF MR. M.'s AMATORY NOTIONS! 163 
 
 But how are we to understand the stage directions ? 
 
 Come, and trip it as you go. 
 
 Are the words used synonymously ? Or is it meant that 
 this airy gentry shall come in a Minuet step, and go off in a 
 Jig? The phenomenon of a tripping crank is indeed novel, 
 and would doubtless attract numerous spectators. 
 
 But it is difficult to guess to whom, among this jolly 
 company, the Poet addresses himself : for immediately after 
 the Plural appellative you, he proceeds, 
 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
 The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty. 
 
 No sooner is this fair damsel introduced ; but Mr M., with 
 most unbecoming levity, falls in love with her : and makes 
 a request of her companion which is rather greedy, that 
 he may live with both of them. 
 
 To live with her, and live with thee. 
 
 Even the gay libertine who sang " How happy could I be 
 with either ! " did not go so far as this. But we have 
 already had occasion to remark on the laxity of Mr M.'s 
 amatory notions. 
 
 The Poet, intoxicated with the charms of his Mistress, 
 now rapidly runs over the pleasures which he proposes to 
 himself in the enjoyment of her society. But though he 
 has the advantage of being his own caterer, either his palate 
 is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the most 
 judicious selection. 
 
 To begin the day well, he will have the sky-lark 
 to come in spite of sorrow 
 
 And at his window bid " Good Morrow ! " 
 The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, 
 must come "in spite" of something else as well as "of 
 sorrow," to the performance of this office. 
 
 In the next image, the Natural History is better preserved ; 
 and, as the thoughts are appropriate to the time of day, we 
 will venture to transcribe the passage, as a favourable 
 specimen of the Author's manner : 
 
 While the Cock, with lively din, 
 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
 
 And to the stack, or the barn door, 
 
 Stoutly struts his dames before ;
 
 1 64 Mr. MILTON LIKENED TO CHANTICLEER. [ Bp - E< Coples | 
 
 Oft listening how the hounds and horns 
 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 
 
 From the side of some hoar hill, 
 
 Through the high wood echoing still. 
 
 Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the Cock, or 
 the Poet, that listens, should be left entirely to the Reader's 
 conjectures ? Perhaps also his embarrassment may be in- 
 creased by a slight resemblance of character in these two 
 illustrious Personages, at least as far as relates to the extent 
 and numbers of their seraglio. 
 
 After a flaming description of sunrise, on which the clouds 
 attend in their very best liveries ; the Bill of Fare for the day 
 proceeds in the usual manner. Whistling Ploughmen, sing- 
 ing Milkmaids, and sentimental Shepherds are always to be 
 had at a moment's notice ; and, if well grouped, serve to fill 
 up the landscape agreeably enough. 
 
 On this part of the Poem we have only to remark, that 
 if Mr JOHN MILTON proposeth to make himself merry with 
 Russet lawns, and fallows grey 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
 Mountains on whose barren breast 
 The labouring clouds do often rest, 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide, 
 Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 he will either find himself egregiously disappointed ; or he 
 must possess a disposition to merriment which even 
 DEMOCRITUS himself might envy. To such a pitch indeed 
 does this solemn indication of joy sometimes rise, that we are 
 inclined to give him credit for a literal adherence to the 
 Apostolic precept, " Is any merry, let him sing Psalms ! " 
 
 At length, however, he hies away at the sound of bell- 
 ringing, and seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and 
 fiddling and dancing of a village wake : but his fancy is 
 soon haunted again by spectres and goblins, a set of beings 
 not, in general, esteemed the companions or inspirers of mirth. 
 
 With stories told of many a feat, 
 
 How fairy MAB the junkets eat. 
 
 She was pinched, and pulled, she said :
 
 BpE.copiestooe.-j ^J R y[. MAY WRITE NURSERY TALES. 165 
 
 And he, by friar's lanthern led, 
 
 Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 
 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set ; 
 
 When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
 
 His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn 
 
 That ten day-labourers could not end. 
 
 Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend ; 
 
 And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 
 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength : 
 
 And, crop-full, out of door he flings 
 
 Ere the first cock his Matins rings. 
 
 Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of 
 Nursery Tales and prattling Lullabies ; and, if he will 
 studiously cultivate his talent, he need not despair of figuring 
 in a conspicuous corner of Mr NEWBERY'S shop window : 
 unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to proscribe 
 those empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the 
 World has been too long abused. 
 
 From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another 
 species of hum. 
 
 Towered cities please us then, 
 And the busy hum of men ; 
 Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, 
 In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold : 
 With store of Ladies ; whose bright eyes 
 Rain influence, and judge the Prize 
 Of Wit or Arms ; while both contend 
 To win her grace, whom all commend. 
 
 To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of 
 Wit is indeed with the Poets a legitimate species of humming : 
 but would not, we may ask, the rain from these Ladies' 
 bright eyes rather tend to dim their lustre ? Or is there any 
 quality in a shower of influence ; which, instead of deadening, 
 serves only to brighten and exhilarate ? 
 
 Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all 
 means to keep out of the way of these " Knights and Barons 
 bold " : for, if he has nothing but his Wit to trust to, we will 
 venture to predict that, without a large share of most undue 
 influence, he must be content to see the Prize adjudged to 
 his competitors.
 
 1 66 MR. M. SEEMS TO HAVE SOME FANCY! j [ B P- 
 
 Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said. 
 
 The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he 
 gets among the Actors and Musicians : though his head is 
 still running upon ORPHEUS and EURYDICE and PLUTO, and 
 other sombre personages ; who are ever thrusting themselves 
 in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising 
 emotion of mirth and gaiety. 
 
 He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of 
 festive pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched 
 them so well, that he closes with a couplet which would not 
 have disgraced a STERNHOLD. 
 
 These delights if thou canst give, 
 Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 
 
 Of Mr. M.'s good intentions there can be no doubt ; but we 
 beg leave to remind him that there are two opinions to be 
 consulted. He presumes perhaps upon the poetical powers 
 he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible : for every 
 one must observe in how different a strain he avows his 
 attachment now, and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was 
 If I give thee honour due, 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew ! 
 
 But having, it should seem, established his pretensions ; he 
 now thinks it sufficient to give notice that he means to live 
 with her, because he likes her. 
 
 Upon the whole, Mr. MILTON seems to be possessed of 
 some fancy and talent for rhyming ; two most dangerous 
 endowments which often unfit men for acting a useful part 
 in life without qualifying them for that which is great and 
 brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined 
 advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulging 
 his poetical humour ; we hope it is not yet too late to prevail 
 upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of COCKER 
 and common industry, he may become a respectable 
 Scrivener : but it is not all the ZEPHYRS, and AURORAS, and 
 CORYDONS, and THYRSIS's ; aye, nor his " junketing Queen 
 MAB " and " drudging Goblins," that will ever make him a 
 Poet
 
 PREDICTIONS 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 YEAR 1708. 
 
 Wherein the Month and Day of 
 the Month are set down, the 
 Persons named, and the great 
 Actions and Events of next Year 
 particularly related, as they will 
 come to pass. 
 
 Written to prevent the People of England 
 from being further imposed on by vulgar 
 Almanack Makers. 
 
 By ISAAC Bi c KER STAFF, Esq. 
 
 Sold by JOHN MORPHEW, near Stationers' Hall. 
 MDCCVIII.
 
 169 
 
 PREDICTIONS 
 
 for the Year 1708, &c. 
 
 HAVE long considered the gross abuse of Astro- 
 logy in this Kingdom ; and upon debating 
 the matter with myself, I could not possibly 
 lay the fault upon the Art, but upon those 
 gross Impostors who set up to be the Artists. 
 I know several Learned Men have contended 
 that the whole is a cheat ; that it is absurd and 
 ridiculous to imagine the stars can have any 
 influence at all on human actions, thoughts, or inclinations : 
 and whoever has not bent his studies that way, may be 
 excused for thinking so, when he sees in how wretched a man- 
 ner this noble Art is treated by a few mean illiterate traders 
 between us and the stars ; who import a yearly stock of non- 
 sense, lies, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to the 
 world as genuine from the planets, although they descend 
 from no greater height than their own brains. 
 
 I intend, in a short time, to publish a large and rational 
 Defence of this Art ; and therefore shall say no more in its 
 justification at present than that it hath been, in all Ages, de- 
 fended by many Learned Men ; and, among the rest, by SOC- 
 RATES himself, whom I look upon as undoubtedly the wisest of 
 uninspired mortals. To which if we add, that those who have 
 condemned this Art, although otherwise learned, having been 
 such as either did not apply their studies this way, or at least 
 did not succeed in their applications ; their testimonies will 
 not be of much weight to its disadvantage, since they are 
 liable to the common objection of condemning what they did 
 not understand. 
 
 Nor am I at all offended, or think it an injury to the 
 Art, when I see the common dealers in it, the Students in
 
 170 INFLUENCE OF ALMANACKS IN THE COUNTRY. [ 
 
 Astronomy, the Philomaths, and the rest of that tribe, treated 
 by wise men with the utmost scorn and contempt : but I 
 rather wonder, when I observe Gentlemen in the country, 
 rich enough to serve the nation in Parliament, poring in 
 PARTRIDGE'S Almanack to find out the events of the year, at 
 home and abroad ; not daring to propose a hunting match, 
 unless GADBURY or he have fixed the weather. 
 
 I will allow either of the two I have mentioned, or any 
 others of the fraternity, to be not only Astrologers, but Con- 
 jurers too, if I do not produce a hundred instances in all 
 their Almanacks, to convince any reasonable man that they do 
 not so much as understand Grammar and Syntax; that they are 
 not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even, in 
 their Prefaces, to write common sense, or intelligible English. 
 
 Then as their Observations or Predictions, they are such as 
 will suit any Age or country in the world. 
 
 This month, a certain great Person will be threatened with death 
 or sickness. This the News Paper will tell them. For there 
 we find at the end of the year, that no month passeth without 
 the death of some Person of Note : and it would be hard if it 
 should be otherwise, where there are at least two thousand 
 Persons of Note in this kingdom, many of them old ; and the 
 Almanack maker has the liberty of choosing the sickliest 
 season of the year, where he may fix his prediction. 
 
 Again, This month, an eminent Clergyman will be preferred. 
 Of which, there may be some hundreds, half of them with one 
 foot in the grave. 
 
 Then, Such a Planet in such a House shews great machina- 
 tions, plots, and conspiracies, that may, in time, be brought to 
 light. After which, if we hear of any discovery, the Astrologer 
 gets the honour : if not, his prediction still stands good. 
 
 And, at last, God preserve King WILLIAM from all his open 
 and secret enemies, Amen. When, if the King should happen 
 to have died, the Astrologer plainly foretold it ! otherwise it 
 passeth but for the pious ejaculation of a loyal subject: although 
 it unluckily happened in some of their A Imanacks, that poor 
 King WILLIAM was prayed for, many months after he was 
 dead ; because it fell out, that he died about the beginning 
 of the year. 
 
 To mention no more of their impertinent Predictions, What 
 have we to do with their advertisements about pills, or their
 
 L B Feb er i7o8:] WHAT BICKERSTAFF DID FORETELL[!] 171 
 
 mutual quarrels[in verse and prose of Whig and Tory ? where- 
 with the stars have little to do. 
 
 Having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred 
 other abuses of this Art too tedious to repeat ; I resolved to 
 proceed in a New Way ; which, I doubt not, will be to the 
 general satisfaction of the Kingdom. I can, this year, pro- 
 duce but a specimen of what I design for the future : having 
 employed the most part of my time in adjusting and correct- 
 ing the calculations I made for some years past ; because 
 I would offer nothing to the World, of which I am not as fully 
 satisfied as that I am now alive. 
 
 For these last two years, I have not failed in above one or two 
 particulars, and those of no very great moment. I exactly 
 foretold the miscarriage at Toulon [fruitlessly besieged by Prince 
 EUGENE, between 26th July, and 2ist August, 1707] with all its 
 particulars : and the loss of Admiral [Sir CLOUDESLY] SHOVEL 
 [at the Stilly isles, on 22nd October, 1707] ; although I was 
 mistaken as to the day, placing that accident about thirty-six 
 hours sooner than it happened; but upon reviewing my 
 Schemes, I quickly found the cause of that error. I likewise 
 foretold the battle of Almanza [2$th April, 1707] to the very 
 day and hour, with the loss on both sides, and the consequences 
 thereof. All which I shewed to some friends many months 
 before they happened : that is, I gave them papers sealed up, 
 to open in such a time, after which they were at liberty to 
 read them ; and there they found my Predictions true in every 
 Article, except one or two very minute. 
 
 As for the few following Predictions I now offer the World, 
 I forbore to publish them until I had perused the several 
 Almanacks for the year we are now entered upon. I found 
 them all in the usual strain ; and I beg the reader will com- 
 pare their manner with mine. 
 
 And here I make bold to tell the World that I lay the whole 
 credit of my Art upon the truth of these Predictions ; and I will 
 be content that PARTRIDGE and the rest of his clan may hcot 
 me for a cheat and impostor, if I fail in any single particular of 
 moment. I believe any man who reads this Paper [pamphlet], 
 will look upon me to be at least a person of as much honesty 
 and understanding as the common maker of Almanacks. I do 
 not lurk in the dark. I am not wholly unknown to the World.
 
 172 I HAVE SET MY NAME AT LENGTH! [*' 
 
 I have set my name at length, to be a mark of infamy to 
 mankind, if they shall find I deceive them. 
 
 In one thing, I must desire to be forgiven : that I talk more 
 sparingly of home affairs. As it would be imprudence to dis- 
 cover Secrets of State, so it would be dangerous to my person : 
 but in smaller matters, and that as are not of public conse- 
 quence, I shall be very free : and the truth of my conjectures 
 will as much appear from these, as the other. 
 
 As for the most signal events abroad, in France, Flanders, 
 Italy, and Spain : I shall make no scruple to predict them in 
 plain terms. Some of them are of importance ; and I hope I 
 shall seldom mistake the day they will happen. Therefore I 
 think good to inform the reader, that I, all along, make use 
 of the Old Style observed in England ; which I desire he will 
 compare with that of the News Papers at the time they relate 
 the actions I mention. 
 
 I must add one word more. I know it hath been the 
 opinion of several Learned [Persons], who think well enough 
 of the true Art of Astrology, that the stars do only incline and 
 not force the actions or wills of men : and therefore, however 
 I may proceed by right rules ; yet I cannot, in prudence, so 
 confidently assure that the events will follow exactly as I 
 predict them. 
 
 I hope I have maturely considered this objection, which, in 
 some cases, is of no little weight. For example, a man may, 
 by the influence of an overruling planet, be disposed or in- 
 clined to lust, rage, or avarice ; and yet, by the force of 
 reason, overcome that evil influence. And this was the case 
 of SOCRATES. But the great events of the World usually de- 
 pending upon numbers of men ; it cannot be expected they 
 should all unite to cross their inclinations, from pursuing a 
 general design wherein they unanimously agree. Besides, 
 the influence of the stars reacheth to many actions and 
 events which are not, in any way, in the power of Reason, as 
 sickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents ; with 
 many more, needless to repeat. 
 
 But now it is time to proceed to my Predictions : which I 
 have begun to calculate from the time that the sun entereth 
 into Aries [April] ; and this I take to be properly the beginning 
 of the natural year. I pursue them to the time that he
 
 !"?!'] PARTRIDGE WILL DIE ON THE 29 OF MARCH. 1 73 
 
 Bickers taff. 
 Feb 
 
 entereth Libra [September] or somewhat more ; which is the 
 busy period of the year. The remainder I have not yet 
 adjusted, upon account of several impediments needless here 
 to mention. Besides, I must remind the reader again, that 
 this is but a specimen of what I design, in succeeding years, to 
 treat more at large ; if I may have liberty and encouragement. 
 
 My first Prediction is but a trifle ; yet I will mention it to 
 shew how ignorant those sottish pretenders to Astrology are 
 in their own concerns. It relateth to PARTRIDGE the Almanack 
 maker. I have consulted the star of his nativity by my own 
 rules ; and find he will infallibly die upon the agth of March 
 [1708] next, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. There- 
 fore I advise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs in time. 
 
 The month of A p R I L will be observable for the death of 
 many Great Persons. 
 
 On the 4th will die the Cardinal DE NOAILLES, Archbishop 
 of Paris. 
 
 On the nth, the young Prince of the ASTURIAS, son to the 
 Duke of ANJOU. 
 
 On the I4th, a great Peer of this realm will die at his 
 country house. 
 
 On the igth, an old Layman of great fame and learning ; 
 and on the 23rd, an eminent goldsmith in Lombard street. 
 
 I could mention others, both at home and abroad, if I did 
 not consider it is of very little use or instruction to the 
 Reader, or to the World. 
 
 As to Public Affairs. On the yth of this month, there will 
 be an insurrection in Dauphiny, occasioned by the oppressions 
 of the people ; which will not be quieted in some months. 
 
 On the I5th, there will be a violent storm on the south- 
 east coast of France ; which will destroy many of their ships, 
 and some in the very harbours. 
 
 The igth will be famous for the revolt of a whole Province 
 or Kingdom, excepting one city : by which the affairs of a 
 certain Prince in the Alliance will take a better face. 
 
 MAY, against common conjectures, will be no very busy 
 month in Europe; but very signal for the death of the 
 Dauphin [Note, how SWIFT is killing off all the Great Men on 
 the French side, one after another : became that would jump with the 
 inclination of the nation just at the moment] ; which will happen
 
 174 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF'S PREDICTIONS. P'^SbfSJ; 
 
 on the yth, after a short fit of sickness, and grievous torments 
 with the stranguary. He dies less lamented by the Court 
 than the Kingdom. 
 
 On the gth, a Marshal of France will break his leg by a 
 fall from his horse. I have not been able to discover whether 
 he will then die or not. 
 
 On the nth, will begin a most important siege, which the 
 eyes of all Europe will be upon. I cannot be more particular; 
 for in relating affairs that so nearly concern the Confederates, 
 and consequently this Kingdom; I am forced to confine myself, 
 for several reasons very obvious to the reader. 
 
 On the i5th, news will arrive of a very surprising event ; 
 than which, nothing could be more unexpected. 
 
 On the igth, three noble Ladies of this Kingdom, will, 
 against all expectation, prove with child ; to the great joy of 
 their husbands. 
 
 On the 23rd, a famous buffoon of the Play House will die 
 a ridiculous death, suitable to his vocation. 
 
 JUNE. This month will be distinguished at home by the 
 utter dispersing of those ridiculous deluded enthusiasts, 
 commonly called Prophets [Scotch and English Jesuits affecting 
 inspiration, under the name of the French Prophets], occasioned 
 chiefly by seeing the time come when many of their prophecies 
 were to be fulfilled ; and then finding themselves deceived by 
 the contrary events. It is indeed to be admired [astonished 
 at] how any deceiver can be so weak to foretell things near 
 at hand ; when a very few months must, of necessity, discover 
 the imposture to all the world : in this point, less prudent than 
 common Almanack makers, who are so wise [as] to wander 
 in generals, talk dubiously, and leave to the reader the business 
 of interpreting. 
 
 On the ist of this month, a French General will be killed 
 by a random shot of a cannon ball. 
 
 On the 6th, a fire will break out in all the suburbs of Paris, 
 which will destroy above a thousand houses ; and seems to be 
 the foreboding of what will happen, to the surprise of all 
 Europe, about the end of the following month. 
 
 On the loth, a great battle will be fought, which will begin 
 at four of the clock in the afternoon, and last until nine at 
 night, with great obstinacy, but no very decisive event. I 
 shall not name the place, for the reasons aforesaid ; but the
 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF'S PREDICTIONS. 175 
 
 Commanders of each left wing will be killed. ... I see 
 bonfires, and hear the noise of guns for a victory. 
 
 On the I4th, there will be a false report of the French 
 King's death. 
 
 On the 2Oth, Cardinal PORTOCARRERO will die of a dysentery, 
 with great suspicion of poison : but the report of his intentions 
 to revolt to King CHARLES will prove false. 
 
 JULY. The 6th of this month, a certain General will, 
 by a glorious action, recover the reputation he lost by former 
 misfortunes. 
 
 On the I2th, a great Commander will die a prisoner in the 
 hands of his enemies. 
 
 On the I4th, a shameful discovery will be made of a French 
 Jesuit giving poison to a great foreign General ; and, when 
 he is put to the torture, [he] will make wonderful discoveries. 
 
 In short, this will prove a month of great action, if I might 
 have liberty to relate the particulars. 
 
 At home, the death of an old famous Senator will happen on 
 the I5th, at his country house, worn [out] with age and diseases. 
 
 But that which will make this month memorable to all 
 posterity, is the death of the French King LEWIS XIV., after 
 a week's sickness at Marli ; which will happen on the 2gth, 
 about six o'clock in the evening. It seemeth to be an effect 
 of the gout in his stomach followed by a flux. And in three 
 days after, Monsieur CHAMILLARD will follow his master ; 
 dying suddenly of an apoplexy. 
 
 In this month likewise, an Ambassador will die in London; 
 but I cannot assign the day. 
 
 AUGUST. The affairs of France will seem to suffer 
 no change for a while, under the Duke of BURGUNDY'S 
 administration. But the Genius that animated the whole 
 machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turns and 
 revolutions in the following year. The new King maketh 
 yet little change, either in the army or the Ministry ; but the 
 libels against his [grand]father that fly about his very Court, 
 give him uneasiness. 
 
 I see an Express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in 
 his looks, arriving by the break of day on the 26th of this 
 month, having travelled, in three days, a prodigious journey 
 by land and sea. In the evening, I hear bells and guns, and 
 see the blazing of a thousand bonfires.
 
 176 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF'S PREDICTIONS. [ 
 
 A young Admiral, of noble birth, doth likewise, this month, 
 gain immortal honour by a great achievement. 
 
 The affairs of Poland are, this month, entirely settled. 
 AUGUSTUS resigns his pretensions, which he had again 
 taken up for some time. STANISLAUS is peaceably possessed 
 of the throne : and the King of SWEDEN declares for the 
 Emperor. 
 
 I cannot omit one particular accident here at home : that, 
 near the end of this month, much mischief will be done at 
 Bartholomew Fair [held on August 24^], by the fall of a booth. 
 
 SEPTEMBER. This month begins with a very sur- 
 prising fit of frosty weather, which will last near [ly] twelve days. 
 
 The Pope having long languished last month, the swell- 
 ings in his legs breaking, and the flesh mortifying ; he will 
 die on the nth instant. And, in three weeks' time, after a 
 mighty contest, he will be succeeded by a Cardinal of the 
 Imperial faction, but a native of Tuscany, who is now about 
 6 1 years old. 
 
 The French army acts now wholly on the defensive, 
 strongly fortified in their trenches : and the young French 
 King sendcth overtures for a treaty of peace, by the Duke of 
 MANTUA ; which, because it is a matter of State that con- 
 cerneth us here at home, I shall speak no further of. 
 
 I shall add but one Prediction more, and that in mystical 
 terms, which shall be included in a verse out of VIRGIL. 
 
 A Her erit jam TETHYS, et altera qua vehat A RGO 
 Dilectos Heroas. 
 
 Upon the 25th day of this month, the fulfilling of this 
 Prediction will be manifest to everybody. 
 
 This is the furthest I have proceeded in my calculations 
 for the present year. I do not pretend that these are all the 
 great events which will happen in this period ; but that 
 those I have set down will infallibly come to pass. 
 
 It may perhaps, still be objected, why I have not spoken 
 more particularly of affairs at home, or of the success of 
 our armies abroad ; which I might, and could very largely 
 have done. But those in Power have wisely discouraged 
 men from meddling in public concerns : and I was resolved, 
 by no means, to give the least offence. This I will venture 
 to say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the Allies,
 
 ^dl^SSJ COMMON ASTROLOGERS & THEIR POTHOOKS. 177 
 
 wherein the English forces, both by sea and land, will have 
 their full share of honour ; that Her Majesty Queen ANNE 
 will continue in health and prosperity ; and that no ill accident 
 will arrive to any in the chief Ministry. 
 
 As to the particular events I have mentioned, the readers 
 may judge by the fulfilling of them, whether I am of the 
 level with common Astrologers, who, with an old paltry 
 cant, and a few Pothooks for Planets to amuse the vulgar, 
 have, in my opinion, too long been suffered to abuse the 
 World. But an honest Physician ought not to be despised 
 because there are such things as mountebanks. 
 
 I hope I have some share of reputation ; which I would 
 not willingly forfeit for a frolic, or humour : and I believe no 
 Gentleman, who reads this Paper, will look upon it to be of 
 the same last and mould with the common scribbles that 
 are every day hawked about. My fortune hath placed me 
 above the little regard of writing for a few pence, which I 
 neither value nor want. Therefore, let not any wise man 
 too hastily condemn this Essay, intended for a good design, 
 to cultivate and improve an ancient Art, long in disgrace by 
 having fallen into mean unskilful hands. A little time will 
 determine whether I have deceived others, or myself : and I 
 think it is no very unreasonable request, that men would 
 please to suspend their judgements till then. 
 
 I was once of the opinion with those who despise all 
 Predictions from the stars, till, in the year 1686, a Man 
 of Quality shewed me written in his album, that the most 
 learned astronomer, Captain H [ALLEY], assured him he would 
 never believe anything of the stars' influence, if there were 
 not a great Revolution in England in the year 1688. Since 
 that time, I began to have other thoughts [SwiFT does not 
 say on what subject] ; and, after eighteen years' [1690-1708] 
 diligent study and application [in what ?], I think I have no 
 reason to repent of my pains. 
 
 I shall detain the reader no longer than to let him know, 
 that the account I design to give of next year's events shall 
 take in the principal affairs that happen in Europe. And if 
 I be denied the liberty of offering it to my own country ; I 
 shall appeal to the Learned World, by publishing it in Latin, 
 and giving order to have it printed in Holland. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 ^JO 
 
 A Revenue Officer 
 NATHAN SWIF 
 
 A Letter to a Lord. 
 
 [30 March 1708.] 
 
 LORD, 
 
 N OBEDIENCE to your Lordship's commands, 
 as well as to satisfy my own curiosity ; I 
 have, for some days past, inquired constantly 
 after PARTRIGE the Almanack maker: of 
 whom, it was foretold in Mr. BICKERSTAFF'S 
 Predictions, published about a month ago, 
 that he should die, the 2Qth instant, about 
 eleven at night, of a raging fever. 
 I had some sort of knowledge of him, when I was employed 
 in the Revenue ; because he used, every year, to present me 
 with his Almanack, as he did other Gentlemen, upon the 
 score of some little gratuity we gave him. 
 
 I saw him accidentally once or twice, about ten days 
 before he died : and observed he began very much to droop 
 and languish ; although I hear his friends did not seem to 
 apprehend him in any danger. 
 
 About two or three days ago, he grew ill ; was confined 
 first to his chamber, and in a few hours after, to his bed : 
 where Dr. CASE and Mrs. KIRLEUS [two London quacks] 
 were sent for, to visit, and to prescribe to him. 
 
 Upon this intelligence, I sent thrice every day a servant 
 or other, to inquire after his health : and yesterday, about 
 four in the afternoon, word was brought me, that he was 
 past hopes. 
 
 Upon which, I prevailed with myself to go and see him : 
 partly, out of commiseration : and, I confess, partly out of 
 curiosity. He knew me very well, seemed surprised at my 
 condescension, and made me compliments upon it, as well
 
 SHAM ACCOUNT OF PARTRIDGE'S DEATH. 179 
 
 as he could in the condition he was. The people about him, 
 said he had been delirious : but, when I saw him, he had 
 his understanding as well as ever I knew, and spoke strong 
 and hearty, without any seeming uneasiness or constraint. 
 
 After I had told him, I was sorry to see him in those 
 melancholy circumstances, and said some other civilities 
 suitable to the occasion ; I desired him to tell me freely and 
 ingenuously, whether the Predictions, Mr. BICKERSTAFF had 
 published relating to his death, had not too much affected 
 and worked on his imagination ? 
 
 He confessed he often had it in his head, but never with 
 much apprehension till about a fortnight before : since 
 which time, it had the perpetual possession of his mind and 
 thoughts, and he did verily believe was the true natural 
 cause of his present distemper. " For," said he, " I am 
 thoroughly persuaded, and I think I have very good reasons, 
 that Mr. BICKERSTAFF spoke altogether by guess, and knew 
 no more what will happen this year than I did myself." 
 
 I told him, " His discourse surprised me, and I would be 
 glad he were in a state of health to be able to tell me, what 
 reason he had, to be convinced of Mr. BICKERSTAFF'S 
 ignorance." 
 
 He replied, " I am a poor ignorant fellow, bred to a mean 
 trade ; yet I have sense enough to know that all pretences 
 of foretelling by Astrology are deceits: for this manifest 
 reason, because the wise and learned (who can only judge 
 whether there be any truth in this science), do all unani- 
 mously agree to laugh at and despise it ; and none but the 
 poor ignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon 
 the word of such silly wretches as I and my fellows, who 
 can hardly write or read." I then asked him, " Why he had 
 not calculated his own nativity, to see whether it agreed 
 with BICKERSTAFF'S Predictions ? " 
 
 At which, he shook his head, and said, " O, Sir ! this is 
 no time for jesting, but for repenting those fooleries, as I do 
 now from the very bottom of my heart." 
 
 " By what I can gather from you," said I, " the Observa- 
 tions and Predictions you printed with your Almanacks, were 
 mere impositions upon the people." 
 
 He replied, " If it were otherwise, I should have the less to 
 answer for. We have a common form for all those things.
 
 1 80 BlCKERSTAFF OUT BY ALMOST 4 HOURS. [ A 
 
 As to foretelling the weather, we never meddle with that ! 
 but leave it to the printer, who taketh it out of any old 
 Almanack, as he thinketh fit. The rest was my own inven- 
 tion, to make my Almanack sell ; having a wife to maintain, 
 and no other way to get my bread : for mending old shoes is 
 a poor livelihood ! And," added he, sighing, " I wish I may 
 not have done more mischief by my physic than by astro- 
 logy ! although I had some good receipts from my grand- 
 mother, and my own compositions were such as I thought 
 could, at least, do no hurt." 
 
 I had some other discourse with him, which now I cannot call 
 to mind : and I fear I have already tired your Lordship. I 
 shall only add one circumstance. That on his deathbed, he 
 declared himself a Nonconformist, and had a Fanatic [the 
 political designation of Dissenters] preacher to be his spiritual 
 guide. 
 
 After half an hour's conversation, I took my leave ; being 
 almost stifled by the closeness of the room. 
 
 I imagined he could not hold out long ; and therefore 
 withdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant 
 at the house, with orders to come immediately, and tell me 
 as near as he could the minute when PARTRIGE should 
 expire : which was not above two hours after, when, looking 
 upon my watch, I found it to be above Five minutes after 
 Seven. By which it is clear that Mr. BICKERSTAFF was 
 mistaken almost four hours in his calculation [see p. 173]. 
 In the other circumstances he was exact enough. 
 
 But whether he hath not been the cause of this poor man's 
 death as well as the Predictor may be very reasonably dis- 
 puted. However, it must be confessed the matter is odd 
 enough, whether we should endeavour to account for it by 
 chance or the effect of imagination. 
 
 For my own part, although I believe no man has less faith 
 in these matters, yet I shall wait with some impatience, and 
 not without expectation, the fulfilling of Mr. BICKERSTAFF'S 
 second prediction, that the Cardinal DE NOAILLES is to die 
 upon the 4th of April [1708] ; and if that should be verified 
 as exactly as this of poor PARTRIGE, I must own I shall be 
 wholly surprised, and at a loss, and infallibly expect the 
 accomplishment of all the rest.
 
 [In the original broadside, there are Deaths with darts, winged hour- 
 glasses, crossed marrow-bones, &c.] 
 
 [JONATHAN SWIFT.] 
 
 An Elegy on Mr. PATRICE, /^Almanack 
 
 maker ^ who died on the 2tyh of this 
 
 instant March^ 1708. 
 
 [Original broadside in the British Museum, C. 39. k./74-l 
 
 ELL, 'tis as BICKERSTAFF has guest ; 
 Though we all took it for a jest ; 
 PATRIGE is dead ! nay more, he died 
 Ere he could prove the good Squire lied ! 
 Strange, an Astrologer should die 
 Without one wonder in the sky 
 Not one of all his crony stars 
 
 To pay their duty at his hearse ! 
 
 No meteor, no eclipse appeared, 
 
 No comet with a flaming beard ! 
 
 The sun has rose and gone to bed 
 
 Just as if PATRIGE were not dead; 
 
 Nor hid himself behind the moon 
 
 To make a dreadful night at noon. 
 
 He at fit periods walks through Aries, 
 
 Howe'er our earthly motion varies ; 
 
 And twice a year he'll cut th'Equator, 
 
 As if there had been no such matter. 
 
 Some Wits have wondered what analogy 
 
 There is 'twixt* Cobbling and Astrology? V 
 
 How PATRIGE made his optics rise 
 
 From a shoe-sole, to reach the skies ? 
 
 A list, the cobblers' temples ties,
 
 1 82 CONNECTION BETWEEN COBBLING & ASTROLOGY. 
 
 To keep the hair out of their eyes ; 
 From whence, 'tis plain, the diadem 
 That Princes wear, derives from them : 
 And therefore crowns are now-a-days 
 Adorned with golden stars and rays ; 
 Which plainly shews the near alliance 
 'Twixt Cobbling and the Planet science. 
 
 Besides, that slow-paced sign Bo-oUs 
 As 'tis miscalled ; we know not who 'tis ? 
 But PATRIGE ended all disputes ; 
 He knew his trade ! and called it Boots ! * 
 The Horned Moon which heretofore 
 Upon their shoes, the Romans wore, 
 Whose wideness kept their toes from corns, 
 And whence we claim our Shoeing Horns, 
 Shews how the art of Cobbling bears 
 A near resemblance to the Spheres. 
 
 A scrap of parchment hung by Geometry, 
 A great refinement in Barometry, 
 Can, like the stars, foretell the weather : 
 And what is parchment else, but leather ? 
 Which an Astrologer might use 
 Either for A Imanacks or shoes. 
 
 Thus PATRIGE, by his Wit and parts, 
 At once, did practise both these Arts ; 
 And as the boding owl (or rather 
 The bat, because her wings are leather) 
 Steals from her private cell by night, 
 And flies about the candle light : 
 So learned PATRIGE could as well 
 Creep in the dark, from leathern cell ; 
 And in his fancy, fly as far, 
 To peep upon a twinkling star ! 
 Besides, he could confound the Spheres 
 And set the Planets by the ears. 
 To shew his skill, he, Mars would join
 
 ] PARTRIDGE, A COBBLING STAR. 183 
 
 To Venus, in aspect malign, 
 
 Then call in Mercury for aid, 
 
 And cure the wounds that Venus made. 
 
 Great scholars have in LUCIAN read 
 When PHILIP, King of Greece was dead, 
 His soul and spirit did divide, 
 And each part took a different side : 
 One rose a Star ; the other fell 
 Beneath, and mended shoes in hell. 
 
 Thus PATRIGE still shines in each Art, 
 The Cobbling, and Star-gazing Part ; 
 And is installed as good a star 
 As any of the C^SARS are. 
 
 Thou, high exalted in thy sphere, 
 May'st follow still thy calling there ! 
 To thee, the Bull will lend his hide, 
 By Phcebus newly tanned and dried ! 
 For thee, they Argo's hulk will tax, 
 And scrape her pitchy sides for wax ! 
 Then Ariadne kindly lends 
 Her braided hair, to make thee ends 1 
 The point of Sagittarius' dart 
 Turns to an awl, by heavenly art 1 
 And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife, 
 Will forge for thee, a paring-knife ! 
 
 Triumphant Star ! some pity shew 
 On Cobblers militant below ! 
 * But do not shed thy influence down 
 Upon St. James's end o' the Town ! 
 Consider where the moon and stars 
 Have their devoutest worshippers ! 
 Astrologers and lunatics 
 Have in Moorfields their stations fixt : 
 Hither, thy gentle aspect bend, 
 t Nor look asquint on an old friend ! 
 
 idtre Romam.
 
 184 
 
 J. Swift. 
 .Mar. 170*. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 ERE five foot deep, lies on his back, 
 A Cobbler, Starmonger, and Quack ; 
 Who to the stars, in pure good will, 
 Does to his best, look upward still. 
 Weep all you customers, that use 
 His Pills, his Almanacks, or Shoes \ 
 And you that did your fortunes seek, 
 Step to this grave, but once a week ! 
 This earth which bears his body's print 
 You'll find has so much virtue in it; 
 That I durst pawn my ears, 'twill tell 
 Whatever concerns you, full as well 
 (In physic, stolen goods, or love) 
 As he himself could, when above I 
 
 LONDON: Printed in the Year 1708.
 
 Squire BICKERSTAFF detected ; 
 OR THE 
 
 Astrological Impostor convicted. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN PARTRIDGE, 
 
 Student in Physic and Astrology. 
 
 [This was written for PARTRIDGE, either by NICHOLAS ROWE or Dr. 
 YALDEN, and put forth by him, in good faith, in proof of his continued 
 existence.] 
 
 T is hard, my dear countrymen of these United 
 Nations ! it is very hard, that a Britain born, 
 a Protestant Astrologer, a man of Revolu- 
 tion Principles, an assertor of the Liberty and 
 Property of the people, should cry out in vain, 
 for justice against a Frenchman, a Papist, 
 and an illiterate pretender to Science, that 
 would blast my reputation, most inhumanly 
 bury me alive, and defraud my native country of those 
 services which, in my double capacity [Physician and Astro- 
 loger], I daily offer the public. 
 
 What great provocations I have received, let the impar- 
 tial reader judge ! and how unwillingly, even in my own 
 defence, I now enter the lists against Falsehood, Ignorance, 
 and Envy ! But I am exasperated at length, to drag out 
 this CACUS from the den of obscurity, where he lurketh, to 
 detect him by the light of those stars he hath so impudently 
 traduced, and to shew there is not a Monster in the skies so 
 pernicious and malevolent to mankind as an ignorant preten- 
 der to Physic and Astrology. 
 
 I shall not directly fall on the many gross errors, nor 
 expose the notorious absurdities of this prostituted libeller,
 
 1 86 GREAT MEN AND PUBLIC S P IR i TS ! [ ? N> * 
 
 until I have let the Learned World fairly into the controversy 
 depending ; and then leave the unprejudiced to judge of the 
 merits and justice of my cause. 
 
 It was towards the conclusion of the year 1707 [according 
 to the old way of reckoning the year from March 2$th. The 
 precise date is February, 1708, see p. 469], when an impudent 
 Pamphlet crept into the world, intituled Predictions &c. by 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esquire. Among the many arrogant 
 assertions laid down by that lying Spirit of Divination ; he 
 was pleased to pitch on the Cardinal DB NOAILLES and my- 
 self, among many other eminent and illustrious persons that 
 were to die within the confines of the ensuing year, and 
 peremptorily fixed the month, day, and hours of our deaths. 
 
 This, I think, is sporting with Great Men, and Public 
 Spirits, to the scandal of Religion, and reproach of Power : 
 and if Sovereign Princes and Astrologers must make diver- 
 sion for the vulgar, why then, Farewell, say I, to all 
 Governments, Ecclesiastical and Civil ! But, I thank my 
 better stars ! I am alive to confront this false and audacious 
 Predictor, and to make him rue the hour he ever affronted a 
 Man of Science and Resentment. 
 
 The Cardinal may take what measures he pleases, with 
 him : as His Excellency is a foreigner and a Papist, he hath 
 no reason to rely on me for his justification. I shall only 
 assure the World that he is alive ! but as he was bred to 
 Letters, and is master of a pen, let him use it in his own 
 defence ! 
 
 In the meantime, I shall present the Public with a faithful 
 Narrative of the ungenerous treatment and hard usage I have 
 received from the virulent Papers and malicious practices of 
 this pretended Astrologer.
 
 A true and impartial 
 
 ACCOUNT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PROCEEDINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., 
 
 against Me. 
 
 HE 2Qth of March, Anno Dom., 1708, being 
 the night this Sham Prophet had so im- 
 pudently fixed for my last ; which made 
 little impression on myself, but I cannot 
 answer for my whole family. For my wife, 
 with a concern more than usual, prevailed 
 on me to take somewhat to sweat for a 
 cold ; and between the hours of 8 and 9, to 
 go to bed. 
 
 The maid as she was warming my bed, with the curiosity 
 natural to young women, runs to the window, and asks of one 
 passing the street, " Who the bell tolled for ? " 
 
 " Dr. PARTRIDGE," says he, " the famous Almanack maker, 
 who died suddenly this evening." 
 
 The poor girl provoked, told him, " He lied like a rascal ! " 
 The other very sedately replied, "The sexton had so 
 informed him ; and if false, he was to blame for imposing on 
 a stranger." 
 
 She asked a second, and a third as they passed ; and every 
 one was in the same tone. 
 
 Now I don't say these were accomplices to a certain astro- 
 logical Squire, and that one BICKERSTAFF might be sauntering 
 thereabouts ; because I will assert nothing here but what I 
 dare attest, and plain matter of fact.
 
 i88 THEVISITOFTHE UNDERTAKE R. [ rN - ^J 
 
 My wife, at this, fell into a violent disorder ; and I must 
 own I was a little discomposed at the oddness of the accident. 
 
 In the meantime, one knocks at the door. BETTY runneth 
 down and opening, finds a sober grave person, who modestly 
 inquires " If this was Dr. PARTRIDGE'S ? " 
 
 She, taking him for some cautious City patient, that came 
 at that time for privacy, shews him into the dining-room. 
 
 As soon as I could compose myself, I went to him ; and was 
 surprised to find my gentleman mounted on a table with a 
 two-foot rule in his hand, measuring my walls, and taking the 
 dimensions of the room. 
 
 " Pray, Sir," says I, " not to interrupt you, have you any 
 business with me ? " 
 
 " Only, Sir," replies he, " to order the girl to bring me a 
 better light : for this is but a dim one." 
 
 " Sir," sayeth I, " my name is PARTRIDGE ! " 
 
 " Oh ! the Doctor's brother, belike," cries he. " The stair- 
 case, I believe, and these two apartments hung in close 
 mourning will be sufficient ; and only a strip of Bays [cloth] 
 round the other rooms. The Doctor must needs die rich. 
 He had great dealings in his way, for many years. If he had 
 no family Coat [of arms], you had as good use the scutcheons 
 of the Company. They are as showish and will look as 
 magnificent as if he were descended from the Blood-Royal." 
 
 With that, I assumed a greater air of authority, and de- 
 manded, " Who employed him ? and how he came there ? " 
 
 " Why, I was sent, Sir, by the Company of Undertakers," 
 saith he, " and they were employed by the honest gentleman 
 who is the executor to the good Doctor departed : and our 
 rascally porter, I believe is fallen fast asleep with the black 
 cloth and sconces or he had been here ; and we might have 
 been tacking up by this time." 
 
 " Sir," says I, " pray be advised by a friend, and make the 
 best of your speed out of my doors ; for I hear my wife's 
 voice," which, by the way, is pretty distinguishable! "and in 
 that corner of the room stands a good cudgel which somebody 
 [i.e., himself] has felt ere now. If that light in her hands, and 
 she knew the business you came about ; without consulting 
 the stars, I can assure you it will be employed very much 
 to the detriment of your person." 
 
 " Sir," cries he, bowing with great civility, " I perceive
 
 r N ' *?] ALL THE TOWN KNOWS YOU ARE DEAD ! 1 89 
 
 extreme grief for the loss of the Doctor disorders you a 
 little at present : but early in the morning, I'll wait on 
 you, with all necessary materials." 
 
 Now I mention no Mr. BICKERSTAFF, nor do I say that a 
 certain star-gazing Squire has been a playing my executor 
 before his time : but I leave the World to judge, and if it puts 
 thingstothingsfairly together, it won't be much wide of the mark. 
 
 Well, once more I get my doors closed, and prepare for 
 bed, in hopes of a little repose, after so many ruffling adven- 
 tures. Just as I was putting out my light in order to it, 
 another bounceth as hard as he can knock. 
 
 I open the window and ask, " Who is there, and what he 
 wants ? " 
 
 " I am NED the Sexton," replies he, "and come to know 
 whether the Doctor left any orders for a Funeral Sermon ? 
 and where he is to be laid ? and whether his grave is to be 
 plain or bricked ? " 
 
 " Why, Sirrah ! " says I, " you know me well enough. 
 You know I am not dead; and how dare you affront me after 
 this manner ! " 
 
 "Alack a day, Sir," replies the fellow, " why it is in print, 
 and the whole Town knows you are dead. Why, there's Mr. 
 WHITE the joiner is but fitting screws to your coffin ! He'll 
 be here with it in an instant. He was afraid you would have 
 wanted it before this time." 
 
 "Sirrah! sirrah!" saith I, "you shall know to-morrow 
 to your cost that I am alive ! and alive like to be ! " 
 
 " Why, 'tis strange, Sir," says he, " you should make such 
 a secret of your death to us that are your neighbours. It 
 looks as if you had a design to defraud the Church of its dues : 
 and let me tell you, for one who has lived so long by the 
 heavens, that is unhandsomely done ! " 
 
 " Hist ! hist ! " says another rogue that stood by him, 
 " away, Doctor ! into your flannel gear as fast as you can ! for 
 here is a whole pack of dismals coming to you with their 
 black equipage ; how indecent will it look for you to stand 
 frightening folks at your window, when you should have been 
 in your coffin this three hours ! " 
 
 In short, what with Undertakers, Embalmers, Joiners, 
 Sextons, and your Elegy hawkers upon a late practitioner in 
 Physic and Astrology ; I got not one wink of sleep that night, 
 nor scarce a moment's rest ever since.
 
 190 REMON STRANGE s IN THE STREETS. [ r 
 
 Now, I doubt not but this villanous Squire has the impu- 
 dence to assert that these are entirely strangers to him ; he, 
 good man ! knoweth nothing of the matter ! and honest 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, I warrant you ! is more a man of honour 
 than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals that walk the 
 streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds. But 
 he is out, if he thinks the whole World is blind ! for there is 
 one JOHN PARTRIDGE can smell a knave as far as Grub street, 
 although he lies in the most exalted garret, and writeth 
 himself " Squire " I But I will keep my temper ! and proceed 
 in the Narration. 
 
 I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months 
 after this ; but presently one comes up to me in the street : 
 " Mr. PARTRIDGE, that coffin you were last buried in, I have 
 not yet been paid for." 
 
 " Doctor ! " cries another dog, " How do you think people 
 can live by making graves for nothing ? Next time you die, 
 you may even toll out the bell yourself, for NED ! " 
 
 A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders " how I 
 have the conscience to sneak abroad, without paying my 
 funeral expenses." 
 
 "Lord!" says one, " I durst have sworn that was honest 
 Dr. PARTRIDGE, my old friend; but, poor man, he is gone ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," says another, " you look so like my 
 old acquaintance that I used to consult on some private 
 occasions : but, alack, he is gone the way of all flesh." 
 
 " Look, look! " cries a third, after a competent space of star- 
 ing at me; " would not one think our neighbour the Almanack 
 maker was crept out of his grave, to take another peep at 
 the stars in this world, and shew how much he is improved 
 in fortune telling by having taken a journey to the other." 
 
 Nay, the very Reader of our parish (a good sober discreet 
 person) has sent two or three times for me to come and be 
 buried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the con- 
 trary : or if I have been interred in any other parish, to 
 produce my certificate as the Act requires. 
 
 My poor wife is almost run distracted with being called 
 Widow PARTRIDGE, when she knows it's false : and once a 
 Term, she is cited into the Court, to take out Letters of 
 Administration.
 
 f N> 
 
 IS LOOKED UPON AS ONE SEVEN YEARS DEAD. 1 9 1 
 
 But the greatest grievance is a paltry Quack that takes up 
 my calling just under my nose ; and in his printed directions 
 with a, N. B.1SS", says : He lives in the house of the late ingenious 
 Mr. JOHN PARTRIDGE, an eminent Practitioner in Leather, 
 Physic, and Astrology. 
 
 But to shew how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and 
 resentment can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor 
 had provided a monument at the stone-cutter's, and would 
 have it erected in the parish church : and this piece of noto- 
 rious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, if I had 
 not used my utmost interest with the Vestry ; where it was 
 carried at last but by two voices, that I am alive. 
 
 That stratagem failing, out cometh a long sable Elegy 
 bedecked with hour-glasses, mattocks, skulls, spades, and 
 skeletons, with an Epitaph [see p. 486] as confidently written 
 to abuse me and my profession, as if I had been under 
 ground these twenty years. 
 
 And, after such barbarous treatment as this, can the 
 World blame me, when I ask, What is become of the freedom 
 of an Englishman ? and, Where is the Liberty and Property 
 that my old glorious Friend [WILLIAM III.} came over to 
 assert ? We have driven Popery out of the nation ! and 
 sent Slavery to foreign climes ! The Arts only remain in 
 bondage, when a Man of Science and Character shall be 
 openly insulted ! in the midst of the many useful services he 
 is daily paying the public. Was it ever heard, even in 
 Turkey or Algiers, that a State Astrologer was bantered out 
 of his life, by an ignorant impostor ? or bawled out of the 
 world, by a pack of villanous deep-mouthed hawkers ? 
 
 Though I print Almanacks, and publish Advertisements; 
 although I produce certificates under the Minister's and 
 Churchwardens' hands, that I am alive : and attest the same, 
 on oath, at Quarter Sessions : out comes A full and true 
 Relation of the death and interment of JOHN PARTRIDGE. 
 Truth is borne down ; Attestations, neglected ; the testimony 
 of sober persons, despised : and a man is looked upon by his 
 neighbours as if he had been seven years dead, and is buried 
 alive in the midst of his friends and acquaintance. 
 
 Now can any man of common sense think it consistent 
 with the honour of my profession, and not much beneath the 
 dignity of a philosopher, to stand bawling, before his own
 
 192 PARTRIDGE'S GENUINE IDEA OF BICKERSTAFF. [ T 
 
 door, " Alive ! Alive ! Ho ! the famous Doctor PARTRIDGE ! 
 no counterfeit, but all alive ! " as if I had the twelve celestial 
 Monsters of the Zodiac to shew within, or was forced for a 
 livelihood, to turn retailer to May and Bartholomew Fairs. 
 
 Therefore, if Her Majesty would but graciously be pleased 
 to think a hardship of this nature worthy her royal considera- 
 tion ; and the next Parl[ia]m[en]t, in their great wisdom, cast 
 but an eye towards the deplorable case of their old Philomath 
 that annually bestoweth his poetical good wishes on them : 
 I am sure there is one ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esquire, would 
 soon be trussed up ! for his bloody persecution, and putting 
 good subjects in terror of their lives. And that henceforward, 
 to murder a man by way of Prophecy, and bury him in a 
 printed Letter, either to a Lord or Commoner, shall as legally 
 entitle him to the present possession of Tyburn, as if he 
 robbed on the highway, or cut your throat in bed. 
 
 Advertisement. 
 
 N.B.'IS* There is now in the Press, my Appeal to the Learned; 
 Or my general Invitation to all Astrologers, Divines, Physicians, 
 Lawyers, Mathematicians, Philologers, and to the Literati of the 
 whole World, to come and take their Places in the Common Court 
 of Knowledge, and receive the Charge given in by me, against 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., that most notorious Impostor in 
 Science and illiterate Pretender to the Stars ; where I shall openly 
 convict him of ignorance in his profession, impudence and false- 
 hood in every assertion, to the great detriment and scandal of 
 Astrology. I shall further demonstrate to the Judicious, that 
 France and Rome are at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy 
 against me ; and that the Culprit aforesaid is a Popish emissary, 
 has paid his visits to St. Germains, and is now in the Measures of 
 LEWIS XIV. ; that in attempting my reputation, there is a 
 general Massacre of Learning designed in these realms ; and, 
 through my sides, there is a wound given to all the Protestant 
 Almanack makers in the universe. 
 
 Vivat Reginal
 
 Partridge.! 
 1709. J 
 
 IT WAS A BOLD TOUCH! 
 
 193 
 
 Not satisfied with this Impartial Account, when next Almanack time 
 came (in the following November, 1708), PARTRIDGE'S Almanack for 1709 
 P.P. 2465/8] contained the following : 
 
 You may remember that there was a Paper published 
 predicting my death upon the agth March at night, 1708, 
 and after the day was past, the same villain told the World I 
 was dead, and how I died, and that he was with me at the 
 time of my death. 
 
 I thank GOD, by whose mercy I have my Being, that I 
 am still alive, and (excepting my age) as well as ever I was 
 in my life : as I was also at that 2Qth of March. And that 
 Paper was said to be done by one BICKERSTAFF, Esq. But that 
 was a sham name, it was done by an impudent lying fellow. 
 
 But his Prediction did not prove true ! What will he say 
 to that? For the fool had considered the "Star of my 
 Nativity " as he said. Why the truth is, he will be hard put 
 to it to find a salvo for his Honour. It was a bold touch ! 
 and he did not know but it might prove true. 
 
 One hardly knows whether to wonder most at the self-delusion or 
 credulity of this last paragraph by the old quack. 
 This called forth from SWIFT : 
 
 VINDICATION 
 
 OF 
 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq, 
 
 R. PARTRIDGE hath been lately pleased to 
 treat me after a very rough manner, in 
 that which is called his Almanack for the 
 present year. Such usage is very undecent 
 from one Gentleman to another, and does 
 not at all contribute to the discovery of 
 Truth, which ought to be the great End in 
 all disputes of the Learned. To call a 
 man, fool, and villain, and impudent fellow, only for differing 
 from him in a point merely speculative, is, in my humble 
 opinion, a very improper style for a person of his Education. 
 I appeal to the Learned World, whether, in my last year's 
 
 N 7
 
 194 BlCKERSTAFF's/^ZtfCr/OMS-BURNTIN PORTUGAL. [^ 
 
 Predictions, I gave him the least provocation for such un- 
 worthy treatment. Philosophers have differed in all Ages ; 
 but the discreetest among them, have always differed as 
 became Philosophers. Scurrility and Passion in a Controversy 
 among Scholars, is just so much of nothing to the purpose ; 
 and, at best, a tacit confession of a weak cause. 
 
 My concern is not so much for my own reputation, as that 
 of the Republic of Letters; which Mr. PARTRIDGE hath 
 endeavoured to wound through my sides. If men of public 
 spirit must be superciliously treated for their ingenious 
 attempts ; how will true useful knowledge be ever advanced? 
 I wish Mr. PARTRIDGE knew the thoughts which foreign 
 Universities have conceived of his ungenerous proceeding 
 with me : but I am too tender of his reputation to publish 
 them to the World. That spirit of envy and pride, which 
 blasts so many rising Geniuses in our nation, is yet unknown 
 among Professors abroad. The necessity of justifying myself 
 will excuse my vanity, when I tell the reader that I have re- 
 ceived nearly a hundred Honorary Letters from several part 
 of Europe, some as far as Muscovey, in praise of my per- 
 formance : besides several others, which (as I have been credibly 
 informed) were opened in the P[ost] Office, and never sent me. 
 
 It is true, the Inquisition in P[ortuga]l was pleased to burn 
 my Predictions [A fact, as Sir PAUL METHUEN,the English 
 Ambassador there, informed SWIFT], and condemned the 
 Author and the readers of them : but, I hope at the same 
 time, it will be considered in how deplorable a state Learn- 
 ing lieth at present in that Kingdom. And, with the pro- 
 foundest reverence for crowned heads, I will presume to add, 
 that it a little concerned His Majesty of Portugal to interpose 
 his authority in behalf of a Scholar and a Gentleman, the sub- 
 ject of a nation with which he is now in so strict an alliance. 
 
 But the other Kingdoms and States of Europe have treated 
 me with more candour and generosity. If I had leave to 
 print the Latin letters transmitted to me from foreign parts, 
 they would fill a Volume ! and be a full defence against all 
 that Mr. PARTRIDGE, or his accomplices of the P[ortuga]l 
 Inquisition, will be ever able to object : who, by the way, 
 are the only enemies my Predictions have ever met with, at 
 home or abroad. But I hope I know better what is due to 
 the honour of a Learned Correspondence in so tender a point.
 
 J> S J;] MOCK QUOTATIONS FROM LEARNED LETTERS. 195 
 
 Yet some of those illustrious Persons will, perhaps, excuse 
 me for transcribing a passage or two, in my own vindication. 
 
 * The most learned Monsieur LEIBNITZ thus addresseth 
 to me his third Letter ,IllustrissimoBiCKERSTAFFlO A strologico 
 Instauratori, &c. Monsieur LE CLERC, quoting my Predic- 
 tions in a treatise he published last year, is pleased to say, 
 Ita nuperrime BlCKERSTAFFlUS, magnum illud Anglia sidus. 
 Another great Professor writing of me, has these words, 
 BlCKERSTAFFlUS nobilis Anglus, Astrologarum hujusce seculi 
 facile Princeps. Signior MAGLIABECCHI, the Great Duke's 
 famous Library Keeper, spendeth almost his whole Letter in 
 compliments and praises. It is true the renowned Professor 
 of Astronomy at Utrecht seemeth to differ from me in one 
 article ; but it is after the modest manner that becometh a 
 Philosopher, as Pace tanti viri dixerim: and, page 55, he 
 seemeth to lay the error upon the printer, as, indeed it ought, 
 and sayeth, vel forsan error typographi, cum alioquin BlCKER- 
 STAFFlUS vir doctissimus, &c. 
 
 If Mr. PARTRIDGE had followed these examples in the con- 
 troversy between us, he might have spared me the trouble of 
 justifying myself in so public a manner. I believe few men 
 are readier to own their error than I, or more thankful to 
 those who will please to inform him of them. But it seems 
 this Gentleman, instead of encouraging the progress of his 
 own Art, is pleased to look upon all Attempts of this kind as 
 an invasion of his Province. 
 
 He has been indeed so wise, as to make no objection 
 against the truth of my Predictions, except in one single point, 
 relating to himself. And to demonstrate how much men are 
 blinded by their own partiality, I do solemnly assure the 
 reader, that he is the only person from whom I ever heard 
 that objection offered ! which consideration alone, I think, 
 will take off its weight. 
 
 With my utmost endeavours, I have not been able to trace 
 above two Objections ever made against the truth of my last 
 year's Prophecies. 
 
 The first was of a Frenchman, who was pleased to publish 
 to the World, that the Cardinal DE NOAILLES was still alive, 
 notwithstanding the pretended Prophecy of Monsieur BlQUER- 
 
 * The quotations here, are said to be a parody of those of BENTLEY 
 in his controversy with BOYLE.
 
 196 PROOFS THAT PARTRIDGE is NOT ALIVE, 
 
 STAFFS. But how far a Frenchman, a Papist, and an enemy 
 is to be believed, in his own cause, against an English 
 Protestant, who is true to the Government, I shall leave to 
 the candid and impartial reader ! 
 
 The other objection is the unhappy occasion of this Discourse, 
 and relateth to an article in my Predictions, which foretold the 
 death of Mr. PARTRIDGE to happen on March 29, 1708. This, 
 he is pleased to contradict absolutely, in the Almanack he has 
 published for the present year ; and in that ungentlemanly 
 manner (pardon the expression !) as I have above related. 
 
 In that Work, he very roundly asserts that he is not only 
 now alive, but was likewise alive upon that very zgth of March, 
 when I had foretold he should die. 
 
 This is the subject of the present Controversy between us, 
 which I design to handle with all brevity, perspicuity, and 
 calmness. In this dispute, I am sensible the eyes, not only 
 of England, but of all Europe will be upon us: and the 
 Learned in every country will, I doubt not, take part on that 
 side where they find most appearance of Reason and Truth. 
 
 Without entering into criticisms of Chronology about the 
 hour of his death, I shall only prove that Mr. PARTRIDGE is not 
 alive. 
 
 And my first argument is thus. Above a thousand 
 Gentlemen having bought his Almanack for this year, merely 
 to find what he said against me : at every line they read, 
 they would lift up their eyes, and cry out, between rage and 
 laughter, They were sure, no man alive ever wrote such stuff as 
 this ! Neither did I ever hear that opinion disputed. So 
 that Mr. PARTRIDGE lieth under a dilemma, either of disown- 
 ing his Almanack, or allowing himself to be no man alive. 
 
 Death is defined by all Philosophers [as] a separation of 
 the soul and body. Now it is certain that the poor woman 
 [Mrs. PARTRIDGE] who has best reason to know, has gone 
 about, for some time, to every alley in the neighbourhood, and 
 swore to her gossips that her husband had neither life nor soul 
 in him. Therefore, if an uninformed Carcass walks still about, 
 and is pleased to call itself PARTRIDGE ; Mr. BICKERSTAFF doth 
 not think himself any way answerable for that ! Neither had 
 the said Carcass any right to beat the poor boy, who 
 happened to pass by it in the street, crying A full and true 
 Account of Dr. PARTRIDGE'S death, &c.
 
 J ' S iTS'.] PROOFS THAT PARTRIDGE is NOT ALIVE. 197 
 
 SECONDLY. Mr. PARTRIDGE pretendeth to tell fortunes 
 and recover stolen goods, which all the parish says, he 
 must do by conversing with the Devil and other evil spirits : 
 and no wise man will ever allow, he could converse 
 personally with either, until after he was dead. 
 
 THIRDLY. I will plainly prove him to be dead out of his 
 own Almanack for this year; and from the very passage 
 which he produceth to make us think him alive. He there 
 sayeth, He is not only now alive, but was also alive upon that 
 very 2gth of March, which I foretold he should die on. By this, 
 he declareth his opinion that a man may be alive now, who 
 was not alive a twelve month ago. And, indeed, here lies 
 the sophistry of his argument. He dareth not assert he was 
 alive ever since the zgth of March ! but that he is now alive, 
 and was so on that day. I grant the latter, for he did not die 
 until night, as appeareth in a printed account of his death, 
 in a. Letter to a Lord; and whether he be since revived, I 
 leave the World to judge ! This indeed is perfect cavilling ; 
 and I am ashamed to dwell any longer upon it. 
 
 FOURTHLY. I will appeal to Mr. PARTRIDGE himself, 
 whether it be probable I could have been so indiscreet as to 
 begin my Predictions with the only falsehood that ever was 
 pretended to be in them ! and this in an affair at home, 
 where I had so many opportunities to be exact, and must 
 have given such advantages against me, to a person of Mr. 
 PARTRIDGE'S Wit and Learning : who, if he could possibly 
 have raised one single objection more against the truth of my 
 Prophecies, would hardly have spared me ! 
 
 And here I must take occasion to reprove the above- 
 mentioned Writer [i.e., SWIFT himself, see p. 482] of the 
 Relation of Mr. PARTRIDGE'S death, in a Letter to a Lord, who 
 was pleased to tax me with a mistake of four whole hours in 
 my calculation of that event. I must confess, this censure, 
 pronounced with an air of certainty, in a matter that so 
 nearly concerned me, and by a grave judicious author, moved 
 me not a little. But though I was at that time out of Town, 
 yet several of my friends, whose curiosity had led them to be 
 exactly informed (as for my own part ; having no doubt at 
 all of the matter, I never once thought of it ! ) assured me, I 
 computed to something under half an hour : which (I speak 
 my private opinion ! ) is an error of no very great magnitude, 
 that men should raise clamour about it !
 
 198 DEAD MEN STILL ISSUING ALMANACKS. [ J> 
 
 Swift. 
 1709. 
 
 I shall only say, it would not be amiss, if that Author 
 would henceforth be more tender of other men's reputation, 
 as well as of his own ! It is well there were no more 
 mistakes of that kind : if there had been, I presume he 
 would have told me of them, with as little ceremony. 
 
 There is one objection against Mr. PARTRIDGE'S death, which 
 I have sometimes met with, although indeed very slightly 
 offered, That he still continueth to write Almanacks. But 
 this is no more than what is common to all of that Profes- 
 sion. GADBURY, Poor Robin, DOVE, WING, and several 
 others, do yearly publish their A Imanacks, though several of 
 them have been dead since before the Revolution. Now the 
 natural reason of this I take to be, that whereas it is the 
 privilege of other Authors, to live after their deaths ; 
 Almanack makers are only excluded, because their Disserta- 
 tions, treating only upon the Minutes as they pass, become 
 useless as those go off: in consideration of which, Time, 
 whose Registers they are, gives them a lease in reversion, 
 to continue their Works after their death. Or, perhaps, a 
 Name can make an Almanack as well as sell one. And to 
 strengthen this conjecture, I have heard the booksellers 
 affirm, that they have desired Mr. PARTRIDGE to spare him- 
 self further trouble, and only to lend his Name; which could 
 make Almanacks much better than himself. 
 
 I should not have given the Public or myself, the trouble 
 of this Vindication, if my name had not been made use of by 
 several persons, to whom I never lent it : one of which, a 
 few days ago, was pleased to father on me, a new set of 
 Predictions. But I think these are things too serious to be 
 trifled with. It grieved me to the heart, when I saw my 
 Labours, which had cost me so much thought and watching, 
 bawled about by the common hawkers of Grub street ; which I 
 only intended for the weighty consideration of the gravest per- 
 sons. This prejudiced the World so much at first, that several 
 of my friends had the assurance to ask me, " Whether I were 
 in jest ? " To which I only answered coldly, that " the event 
 will shew ! " But it is the talent of our Age and nation to 
 turn things of the greatest importance into ridicule. When 
 the end of the year had verified all my Predictions-, out 
 cometh Mr. PARTRIDGE'S Almanack! disputing the point of 
 his death. So that I am employed, like the General who
 
 PARTRIDGE DISCONTINUES HIS ALMANACK. 199 
 
 was forced to kill his enemies twice over, whom a 
 necromancer had raised to life. If Mr. PARTRIDGE has 
 practised the same experiment upon himself, and be again 
 alive; long may he continue so ! But that doth not, in the 
 least, contradict my veracity ! For I think I have clearly 
 proved, by invincible demonstration, that he died, at farthest, 
 within half an hour of the time I foretold [ ; and not four 
 hours sooner, as the above-mentioned Author, in his Letter 
 to a Lord hath maliciously suggested, with a design to blast 
 my credit, by charging me with so gross a mistake]. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Under the combined assault of the Wits, PARTRIDGE ceased to publish 
 his Almanack for a while ; but afterwards took heart again, publishing 
 his u Merlinus Redivivus, being an Almanack for the year 1714, by JOHN 
 PARTRIDGE, a Lover of Truth [P.P. 2465/6] ; " at p. 2 of which is th? 
 following epistle. 
 
 To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 There seems to be a kind of fantastical propriety in 
 a dead man's addressing himself to a person not in Being. 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF [i.e., RICHARD STEELE] is no more [the 
 Tatler having come to an end] , and I have now nothing to 
 dispute with on the subject of his fictions concerning me, sed 
 magni nominis umbra, " a shadow only, and a mighty name." 
 
 I have indeed been for some years silent, or, in the lan- 
 guage of Mr. BICKERSTAFF, " dead " ; yet like many an old 
 man that is reported so by his heirs, I have lived long enough 
 to bury my successor [the Tatler having been discontinued]. In 
 short, I am returned to Being after you have left it ; and since 
 you were once pleased to call yourself my brother-astrologer, 
 the world may be apt to compare our story to that of the twin- 
 stars CASTOR and POLLUX, and say it was our destiny, not to ap- 
 pear together, butaccording to the fable, to live and die by turns. 
 
 Now, Sir, my intention in this Epistle is to let you know 
 that I shall behave myself in my new Being with as much 
 moderation as possible, and that I have no longer any 
 quarrel with you [i.e., STEELE], for the accounts you inserted 
 in your writings [the joke was continued in the Tatler] con- 
 cerning my death, being sensible that you were no less 
 abused in that particular than myself.
 
 2oo PARTRIDGE COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD. [ J - 
 
 The person from whom you took up that report, I know, 
 was your namesake, the author of BICKERSTAFF'S Predictions, 
 * vide Dr. a notorious cheat.* And if you had been indeed as 
 much an Astrologer as you pretended, you might 
 have known that his word was no more to be taken than that 
 of an Irish evidence [SwiFT was now Dean of St. Patrick's] : 
 that not being the only Tale of a Tub he had vented. The only 
 satisfaction therefore, I expect is, that your bookseller in the 
 next edition of your Works [The Tatler], do strike out my name 
 and insert his in the room of it. I have some thoughts of 
 obliging the World with his nativity, but shall defer that 
 till another opportunity. 
 
 I have nothing to add further, but only that when you 
 think fit to return to life again in whatever shape, of Censor 
 [the designation of the supposed Writer of the Tatler], a Guardian, 
 an Englishman, or any other figure, I shall hope you will 
 do justice to Your revived friend and servant, 
 
 JOHN PARTRIDGE. 
 
 On the last leaf of this Almanack is the following notice : 
 This is to give notice to all people, that all those Prophecies, 
 Predictions, Almanacks, and other pamphlets, that had my 
 name either true, or shammed with the want of a Letter 
 [i.e., spelling his name PARTRIGE instead of PARTRIDGE] : I 
 say, they are all impudent forgeries, by a breed of villains, and 
 wholly without my knowledge or consent. And I doubt not 
 but those beggarly villains that have scarce bread to eat 
 without being rogues, two or three poor printers and a book- 
 binder, with honest BEN, will be at their old Trade again of 
 Prophesying in my name. This is therefore to give notice, 
 that if there is anything in print in my name beside this 
 Almanack, you may depend on it that it is a lie, and he is a 
 villain that writes and prints it. 
 
 In his Almanack for 1715 [P.P. 2465 1 7], PARTRIDGE says- 
 It is very probable, that the beggarly knavish Crew will be 
 this year also printing Prophecies and Predictions in my name, 
 to cheat the country as they used to do. This is therefore 
 to give notice, that if there is anything of that kind done in 
 my name besides this Almanack printed by the Company of 
 Stationers, you may be certain it is not mine, but a cheat, 
 and therefore refuse it.
 
 THE 
 
 resent 
 
 OF 
 
 IN A 
 
 LETTER 
 
 TO A 
 
 Friend in the Country. 
 
 LO ND O N: 
 
 Printed in the Year, M D C C X I. 
 (Price 3</.)
 
 203 
 
 THE 
 
 resent Istate 
 
 O F 
 
 WIT, &c. 
 
 S I R, 
 
 Ou acquaint me in your last, that you are 
 
 still so busy building at , that your 
 
 friends must not hope to see you in Town 
 this year : at the same time, you desire 
 me, that you may not be quite at a loss 
 in conversation among the beau monde 
 next winter, to send you an account of 
 the present State of Wit in Town : which, 
 without further preface, I shall endeavour 
 to perform ; and give you the histories and characters of all 
 our Periodical Papers, whether monthly, weekly, or diurnal, 
 with the same freedom I used to send you our other Town 
 news. 
 
 I shall only premise, that, as you know, I never cared one 
 farthing, either for Whig or Tory : so I shall consider our 
 Writers purely as they are such, without any respect to 
 which Party they belong. 
 
 Dr. KING has, for some time, lain down his monthly 
 Philosophical Transactions, which the title-page informed us at 
 first, were only to be continued as they sold ; and though 
 that gentleman has a world of Wit, yet as it lies in one par- 
 ticular way of raillery, the Town soon grew weary of his 
 Writings : though I cannot but think that their author deserves 
 a much better fate than to languish out the small remainder 
 of his life in the Fleet prison.
 
 2O4 GAY'S OPINION OF DANIEL DEFOE. QM^^: 
 
 About the same time that the Doctor left off writing, one 
 Mr. OZELL put out his Monthly Amusement; which is still 
 continued : and as it is generally some French novel or play 
 indifferently translated, it is more or less taken notice of, as 
 the original piece is more or less agreeable. 
 
 As to our Weekly Papers, the poor Review [by DANIEL 
 DEFOE] is quite exhausted, and grown so very contemptible, 
 that though he has provoked all his Brothers of the Quill 
 round, none of them will enter into a controversy with him. 
 This fellow, who had excellent natural parts, but wanted a 
 small foundation of learning, is a lively instance of those Wits 
 who, as an ingenious author says, " will endure but one 
 skimming " [!]. 
 
 The Observator was almost in the same condition ; but since 
 our party struggles have run so high, he is much mended for 
 the better : which is imputed to the charitable assistance of 
 some outlying friends. 
 
 These two authors might however have flourished some 
 time longer, had not the controversy been taken up by abler 
 hands. 
 
 The Examiner is a paper which all men, who speak with- 
 out prejudice, allow to be well written. Though his subject 
 will admit of no great variety ; he is continually placing it 
 in so many different lights, and endeavouring to inculcate 
 the same thing by so many beautiful changes of expression, 
 that men who are concerned in no Party, may read him 
 with pleasure. His way of assuming the Question in debate 
 is extremely artful ; and his Letter to Crassus is, I think, a 
 masterpiece. As these Papers are supposed to have been 
 written by several hands, the critics will tell you that they 
 can discern a difference in their styles and beauties ; and 
 pretend to observe that the first Examiners abound chiefly in 
 Wit, the last in Humour. 
 
 Soon after their first appearance, came out a Paper from 
 the other side, called the Whig Examiner, written with so 
 much fire, and in so excellent a style, as put the Tories in 
 no small pain for their favourite hero. Every one cried, 
 " BICKERSTAFF must be the author ! " and people were the 
 more confirmed in this opinion, upon its being so soon laid 
 down . which seemed to shew that it was only written to
 
 sMay'SS] THE WRITERS IN THE EXAMINER. 205 
 
 bind the Examiners to their good behaviour, and was never 
 designed to be a Weekly Paper. 
 
 The Examiners, therefore, have no one to combat with, 
 at present, but their friend the Medley : the author of which 
 Paper, though he seems to be a man of good sense, and 
 expresses it luckily now and then, is, I think, for the most 
 part, perfectly a stranger to fine writing. 
 
 I presume I need not tell you that the Examiner carries 
 much the more sail, as it is supposed to be written by the 
 direction, and under the eye of some Great Persons who sit 
 at the helm of affairs, and is consequently looked on as a 
 sort of Public Notice which way they are steering us. 
 
 The reputed author is Dr. S[WIF]T, with the assistance, 
 sometimes, of Dr. ATT[ERBUR]Y and Mr. P[RIO]R. 
 
 The Medley is said to be written by Mr. OLD[MIXO]N ; and 
 supervised by Mr. MAYN[WARIN]G, who perhaps might 
 entirely write those few Papers which are so much better 
 than the rest. 
 
 Before I proceed further in the account of our Weekly 
 Papers, it will be necessary to inform you that at the begin- 
 ning of the winter [on Jan. 2, 1711] , to the infinite surprise 
 of all men, Mr. STEELE flang up his Tatler; and instead 
 of ISAAC BlCKERSTAFF, Esquire, subscribed himself RICHARD 
 STEELE to the last of those Papers, after a handsome 
 compliment to the Town for their kind acceptance of his 
 endeavours to divert them. 
 
 The chief reason he thought fit to give for his leaving off 
 writing was, that having been so long looked on in all public 
 places and companies as the Author of those papers, he found 
 that his most intimate friends and acquaintance were in pain 
 to speak or act before him. 
 
 The Town was very far from being satisfied with this 
 reason, and most people judged the true cause to be, either 
 
 That he was quite spent, and wanted matter to continue 
 
 his undertaking any longer ; or 
 
 That he laid it down as a sort of submission to, and 
 
 composition with, the Government, for some past offences; 
 
 or, lastly, 
 
 That he had a mind to vary his Shape, and appear again 
 
 in some new light.
 
 2o6 IMMENSE SOCIAL INFLUENCE OF THE TATLBR. [ M a j y '^; 
 
 However that were, his disappearance seemed to be bewailed 
 as some general calamity. Every one wanted so agreeable 
 an amusement, and the Coffee-houses began to be sensible 
 that the Esquire's Lucubrations alone had brought them more 
 customers, than all their other News Papers put together. 
 
 It must indeed be confessed that never man threw up his 
 pen, under stronger temptations to have employed it longer. 
 His reputation was at a greater height, than I believe ever 
 any living author's was before him. It is reasonable to 
 suppose that his gains were proportionably considerable. 
 Every one read him with pleasure and good-will ; and the 
 Tories, in respect to his other good qualities, had almost 
 forgiven his unaccountable imprudence in declaring against 
 them. 
 
 Lastly, it was highly improbable that, if he threw off 
 a Character the ideas of which were so strongly impressed in 
 every one's mind, however finely he might write in any new 
 form, that he should meet with the same reception. 
 
 To give you my own thoughts of this Gentleman's Writings, 
 I shall, in the first place, observe, that there is a noble 
 difference between him and all the rest of our Polite and 
 Gallant Authors. The latter have endeavoured to please 
 the Age by falling in with them, and encouraging them 
 in their fashionable vices and false notions of things. It 
 would have been a jest, some time since, for a man to 
 have asserted that anything witty could be said in praise 
 of a married state, or that Devotion and Virtue were any 
 way necessary to the character of a Fine Gentleman. 
 BICKERSTAFF ventured to tell the Town that they were 
 a parcel of fops, fools, and coquettes ; but in such a manner 
 as even pleased them, and made them more than half 
 inclined to believe that he spoke truth. 
 
 Instead of complying with the false sentiments or vicious 
 tastes of the Age either in morality, criticism, or good breed- 
 ing he has boldly assured them, that they were altogether 
 in the wrong; and commanded them, with an authority which 
 perfectly well became him, to surrender themselves to his 
 arguments for Virtue and Good Sense. 
 
 It is incredible to conceive the effect his writings have had 
 on the Town ; how many thousand follies they have either
 
 3 May 5?:] ^ SETS MEN ON A NEW WAY OF THINKING. 2O7 
 
 quite banished or given a very great check to ! how much 
 countenance, they have added to Virtue and Religion ! how 
 many people they have rendered happy, by shewing them it 
 was their own fault if they were not so ! and, lastly, how 
 entirely they have convinced our young fops and young 
 fellows of the value and advantages of Learning ! 
 
 He has indeed rescued it out of the hands of pedants and 
 fools, and discovered the true method of making it amiable 
 and lovely to all mankind. In the dress he gives it, it is a 
 most welcome guest at tea-tables and assemblies, and is 
 relished and caressed by the merchants on the Change. 
 Accordingly there is not a Lady at Court, nor a Banker in 
 Lombard Street, who is not verily persuaded that Captain 
 STEELE is the greatest Scholar and best Casuist of any man 
 in England. 
 
 Lastly, his writings have set all our Wits and Men of Letters 
 on a new way of Thinking, of which they had little or no 
 notion before : and, although we cannot say that any of them 
 have come up to the beauties of the original, I think we may 
 venture to affirm, that every one of them writes and thinks 
 much more justly than they did some time since. 
 
 The vast variety of subjects which Mr. STEELE has treated 
 of, in so different manners, and yet ALL so perfectly well, 
 made the World believe that it was impossible they should 
 all come from the same hand. This set every one upon 
 guessing who was the Esquire's friend ? and most people at 
 first fancied it must be Doctor SWIFT; but it is now no 
 longer a secret, that his only great and constant assistant 
 was Mr. ADDISON. 
 
 This is that excellent friend to whom Mr. STEELE owes so 
 much ; and who refuses to have his name set before those 
 Pieces which the greatest pens in England would be proud 
 to own. Indeed, they could hardly add to this Gentleman's 
 reputation : whose works in Latin and English Poetry long 
 since convinced the World, that he was the greatest Master 
 in Europe of those two languages. 
 
 I am assured, from good hands, that all the visions, and 
 other tracts of that way of writing, with a very great 
 number of the most exquisite pieces of wit and raillery 
 throughout the Lucubrations are entirely of this Gentleman's 
 composing : which may, in some measure, account for that
 
 208 THE SUPPOSITIOUS CONTINUATIONS OF TATLER. [** 
 
 different Genius, which appears in the winter papers, from 
 those of the summer ; at which time, as the Examiner often 
 hinted, this friend of Mr. STEELE was in Ireland. 
 
 Mr. STEELE confesses in his last Volume of the Tatlers 
 that he is obliged to Dr. SWIFT for his Town Shower, and the 
 Description of the Morn, with some other hints received from 
 him in private conversation. 
 
 I have also heard that several of those Letters, which came 
 as from unknown hands, were written by Mr. HENLEY: 
 which is an answer to your query, " Who those friends are, 
 whom Mr. STEELE speaks of in his last Tatler ? " 
 
 But to proceed with my account of our other papers. 
 The expiration of BICKERSTAFF'S Lucubrations was attended 
 with much the same consequences as the death ofMELlBCEUS's 
 Ox in VIRGIL : as the latter engendered swarms of bees, the 
 former immediately produced whole swarms of little satirical 
 scribblers. 
 
 One of these authors called himself the Growler, and 
 assured us that, to make amends for Mr. STEELE'S silence, 
 he was resolved to growl at us weekly, as long as we should 
 think fit to give him any encouragement. Another Gentle- 
 man, with more modesty, called his paper, the Whisperer; 
 and a third, to please the Ladies, christened his, the Tell 
 tale. 
 
 At the same time came out several Tatlers ; each of which, 
 with equal truth and wit, assured us that he was the genuine 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. 
 
 It may be observed that when the Esquire laid down his 
 pen ; though he could not but foresee that several scribblers 
 would soon snatch it up, which he might (one would think) 
 easily have prevented : he scorned to take any further care 
 about it, but left the field fairly open to any worthy successor. 
 Immediately, some of our Wits were for forming themselves 
 into a Club, headed by one Mr. HARRISON, and trying how 
 they could shoot in this Bow of ULYSSES ; but soon found 
 that this sort of writing requires so fine and particular a 
 manner of Thinking, with so exact a Knowledge of the World, 
 as must make them utterly despair of success. 
 
 They seemed indeed at first to think, that what was only 
 the garnish of the former Tatlers, was that which recom-
 
 i G 7 ii.'l THEY ARE ALL SWEPT AWAY BY THE SPECTATOR. 209 
 
 mended them ; and not those Substantial Entertainments 
 which they everywhere abound in. According they were 
 continually talking of their Maid, Night Cap, Spectacles, and 
 CHARLES LILLIE. However there were, now and then, some 
 faint endeavours at Humour and sparks of Wit : which the 
 Town, for want of better entertainment, was content to hunt 
 after, through a heap of impertinences ; but even those are, 
 at present, become wholly invisible and quite swallowed up 
 in the blaze of the Spectator. 
 
 You may remember, I told you before, that one cause 
 assigned for the laying down the Taller was, Want of 
 Matter; and, indeed, this was the prevailing opinion in 
 Town : when we were surprised all at once by a paper 
 called the Spectator, which was promised to be continued 
 every day ; and was written in so excellent a style, with so 
 nice a judgment, and such a noble profusion of Wit and 
 Humour, that it was not difficult to determine it could 
 come from no other hands but those which had penned the 
 Lucubrations. 
 
 This immediately alarmed these gentlemen, who, as it is 
 said Mr. STEELE phrases it, had " the Censorship in Com- 
 mission." They found the new Spectator came on like a 
 torrent, and swept away all before him. They despaired 
 ever to equal him in Wit, Humour, or Learning ; which had 
 been their true and certain way of opposing him : and there- 
 fore rather chose to fall on the Author ; and to call out for 
 help to all good Christians, by assuring them again and 
 again that they were the First, Original, True, and Undis- 
 puted ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Spectator, whom we regard as our Shelter 
 from that flood of false wit and impertinence which was break- 
 ing in upon us, is in every one's hands ; and a constant topic 
 for our morning conversation at tea-tables and coffee-houses. 
 We had at first, indeed, no manner of notion how a diurnal 
 paper could be continued in the spirit and style of our present 
 Spectators : but, to our no small surprise, we find them still 
 rising upon us, and can only wonder from whence so pro- 
 digious a run of Wit and Learning can proceed ; since some 
 of our best judges seem to think that they have hitherto, in 
 general, outshone even the Esquire's first Tatlers. 
 
 Most people fancy, from their frequency, that they must be 
 
 O 7
 
 2 io ADDISON BEHINDTHE CURTAIN, STEELE IN FRONT.[ J - f 7 **; 
 
 composed by a Society : I withal assign the first places to 
 Mr. STEELE and his Friend. 
 
 I have often thought that the conjunction of those two 
 great Geniuses, who seem to stand in a class by themselves, 
 so high above all our other Wits, resembled that of two 
 statesmen in a late reign, whose characters are very well 
 expressed in their two mottoes, viz., Prodesse quam conspici 
 [LORD SOMERS], and Otium cum dignitate [CHARLES 
 MONTAGU, Earl of HALIFAX]. Accordingly the first [ADDI- 
 SON] was continually at work behind the curtain, drew up 
 and prepared all those schemes, which the latter still drove 
 on, and stood out exposed to the World, to receive its praises 
 or censures. 
 
 Meantime, all our unbiassed well-wishers to Learning are 
 in hopes that the known Temper and prudence of one of these 
 Gentlemen will hinder the other from ever lashing out into 
 Party, and rendering that Wit, which is at present a common 
 good, odious and ungrateful to the better part of the Nation 
 [by which, of course, GAY meant the Tories]. 
 
 If this piece of imprudence does not spoil so excellent a 
 Paper, I propose to myself the highest satisfaction in reading 
 it with you, over a dish of tea, every morning next winter. 
 
 As we have yet had nothing new since the Spectator, it 
 only remains for me to assure you, that I am 
 
 Yours, S-c., 
 
 J[0 H N]. G[A Y], 
 
 Westminster, May 3, 1711. 
 
 POSTC RI PT. 
 
 Upon a review of my letter, I find I have quite forgotten 
 the British Apollo ; which might possibly have happened, 
 from its having, of late, retreated out of this end of the 
 Town into the country : where, I am informed however, that 
 it still recommends itself by deciding wagers at cards, and 
 giving good advice to shopkeepers and their apprentices. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 211 
 
 THOMAS TICKELL. 
 Life of y OSEPH ADDISON. 
 
 {Preface to first edition of ADDISON'S Works 17*1.] 
 
 OSEPH ADDISON, the son of LANCELOT ADDISON, 
 D.D., and of JANE, the daughter of NATHANIEL 
 GULSTON, D.D., and sister of Dr. WILLIAM 
 GULSTON, Bishop of BRISTOL, was born at 
 Milston, near Ambrosebury, in the county of 
 Wilts, in the year 1671. 
 
 His father, who was of the county of West- 
 moreland, and educated at Queen's College in 
 Oxford, passed many years in his travels through Europe 
 and Africa; where he joined to the uncommon and excellent 
 talents of Nature, a great knowledge of Letters and Things: 
 of which, several books published by him, are ample testi- 
 monies. He was Rector of Milston, above mentioned, when 
 Mr. ADDISON, his eldest son, was born : and afterwards 
 became Archdeacon of Coventry, and Dean of Lichfield. 
 
 Mr. ADDISON received his first education at the Chartreuse 
 [Charterhouse School in London] ; from whence he was removed 
 very early to Queen's College, in Oxford. He had been there 
 about two years, when the accidental sight of a Paper of his 
 verses, in the hands of Dr. LANCASTER, then Dean of that 
 House, occasioned his being elected into Magdalen College. 
 
 He employed his first years in the study of the old Greek 
 and Roman Writers ; whose language and manner he caught, 
 at that time of life, as strongly as other young people gain a 
 French accent, or a genteel air. 
 
 An. early acquaintance with the Classics is what may be 
 called the Good Breeding of Poetry, as it gives a certain 
 gracefulness which never forsakes a mind that contracted it 
 in youth ; but is seldom, or never, hit by those who would 
 learn it too late.
 
 2 1 2 BOILEAU'S IGNORANCE OF OUR LITERATURE. [* 
 
 He first distinguished himself by his Latin compositions, 
 published in the Musce Anglicanee : and was admired as one 
 of the best Authors since the Augustan Age, in the two 
 universities and the greatest part of Europe, before he was 
 talked of as a Poet in Town. 
 
 There is not, perhaps, any harder task than to tame the 
 natural wildness of Wit, and to civilize the Fancy. The 
 generality of our old English Poets abound in forced conceits 
 and affected phrases ; and even those who are said to come 
 the nearest to exactness, are but too often fond of unnatural 
 beauties, and aim at something better than perfection. If 
 Mr. ADDISON'S example and precepts be the occasion that 
 there now begins to be a great demand for Correctness, we 
 may justly attribute it to his being first fashioned by the 
 ancient Models, and familiarized to Propriety of Thought and 
 Chastity of Style. 
 
 Our country owes it to him, that the famous Monsieur 
 BOILEAU first conceived an opinion of the English Genius for 
 Poetry, by perusing the present he made him of the Musa 
 Anglicanee. It has been currently reported, that this famous 
 French poet, among the civilities he shewed Mr. ADDISON on 
 that occasion, affirmed that he would not have written against 
 PERRAULT, had he before seen such excellent Pieces by a 
 modern hand. Such a saying would have been impertinent, 
 and unworthy [of] BOILEAU ! whose dispute with PERRAULT 
 turned chiefly upon some passages in the Ancients, which he 
 rescued from the misinterpretations of his adversary. The 
 true and natural compliment made by him, was that those 
 books had given him a very new Idea of the English Polite- 
 ness, and that he did not question but there were excellent 
 compositions in the native language of a country, that pro- 
 fessed the Roman Genius in so eminent a degree. 
 
 The first English performance made public by him, is a 
 short copy of verses To Mr. DRYDEN, with a view particu- 
 larly to his Translations. 
 
 This was soon followed by a Version of the fourth Georgic 
 of VIRGIL; of which Mr. DRYDEN makes very honourable 
 mention in the Postscript to his own Translation of VIRGIL'S 
 Works : wherein, I have often wondered that he did not, at 
 the same time, acknowledge his obligation to Mr. ADDISON, 
 for giving the Essay upon the Georgics, prefixed to Mr. DRYDEN 's
 
 ? 7 '] PUBLIC MONEY PURCHASING POLITENESS. 213 
 
 Translation. Lest the honour of so exquisite a piece of 
 criticism should hereafter be transferred to a wrong Author, 
 I have taken care to insert it in this Collection of his Works. 
 
 Of some other copies of Verses, printed in the Miscellanies 
 while he was young, the largest is An Account of the greatest 
 English Poets ; in the close of which, he insinuates a design 
 he then had of going into Holy Orders, to which he 
 was strongly importuned by his father. His remarkable 
 seriousness and modesty, which might have been urged as 
 powerful reasons for his choosing that life, proved the chief 
 obstacles to it. These qualities, by which the Priesthood is 
 so much adorned, represented the duties of it as too weighty 
 for him, and rendered him still the more worthy of that 
 honour, which they made him decline. It is happy that this 
 very circumstance has since turned so much to the advantage 
 of Virtue and Religion ; in the cause of which, he has be- 
 stowed his labours the more successfully, as they were his 
 voluntary, not his necessary employment. The World be- 
 came insensibly reconciled to Wisdom and Goodness, when 
 they saw them recommended by him, with at least as much 
 Spirit and Elegance as they had been ridiculed [with] for 
 half a century. 
 
 He was in his twenty-eighth year [1699], when his inclina- 
 tion to see France and Italy was encouraged by the great 
 Lord Chancellor SOMERS, one of that kind of patriots who 
 think it no waste of the Public Treasure, to purchase Polite- 
 ness to their country. His Poem upon one of King WILLIAM'S 
 Campaigns, addressed to his Lordship, was received with 
 great humanity ; and occasioned a message from him to the 
 Author, to desire his acquaintance. 
 
 He soon after obtained, by his Interest, a yearly pension 
 of three hundred pounds from the Crown, to support him in 
 his travels. If the uncommonness of a favour, and the dis- 
 tinction of the person who confers it, enhance its value; 
 nothing could be more honourable to a young Man of Learning, 
 than such a bounty from so eminent a Patron. 
 
 How well Mr. ADDISON answered the expectations of my 
 Lord SOMERS, cannot appear better than from the book of 
 Travels, he dedicated to his Lordship at his return. It is not 
 hard to conceive why that performance was at first but in- 
 differently relished by the bulk of readers ; who expected an
 
 214 ADDISON'S T R A v E LS IN I TA L Y. 
 
 r. Tickell. 
 1731. 
 
 Account, in a common way, of the customs and policies of the 
 several Governments in Italy, reflections upon the Genius of 
 the people, a Map [description] of the Provinces, or a measure 
 of their buildings. How were they disappointed ! when, 
 instead of such particulars, they were presented only with a 
 Journal of Poetical Travels, with Remarks on the present 
 picture of the country compared with the landskips [land- 
 scapes] drawn by Classic Authors, and others the like uncon- 
 cerning parts of knowledge ! One may easily imagine a 
 reader of plain sense but without a fine taste, turning over 
 these parts of the Volume which make more than half of it, 
 and wondering how an Author who seems to have so solid an 
 understanding when he treats of more weighty subjects in the 
 other pages, should dwell upon such trifles, and give up so 
 much room to matters of mere amusement. There are indeed 
 but few men so fond of the Ancients, as to be transported 
 with every little accident which introduces to their intimate 
 acquaintance. Persons of that cast may here have the 
 satisfaction of seeing Annotations upon an old Roman Poem, 
 gathered from the hills and valleys where it was written. 
 The Tiber and the Po serve to explain the verses which were 
 made upon their banks; and the Alps and Apennines are 
 made Commentators on those Authors, to whom they were 
 subjects, so many centuries ago. 
 
 Next to personal conversation with the Writers themselves, 
 this is the surest way of coming at their sense ; a compen- 
 dious and engaging kind of Criticism which convinces at first 
 sight, and shews the vanity of conjectures made by Anti- 
 quaries at a distance. If the knowledge of Polite Literature 
 has its use, there is certainly a merit in illustrating the Per- 
 fect Models of it ; and the Learned World will think some 
 years of a man's life not misspent in so elegant an employ- 
 ment. I shall conclude what I had to say on this Perform- 
 ance, by observing that the fame of it increased from year 
 to year ; and the demand for copies was so urgent, that their 
 price rose to four or five times the original value, before it 
 came out in a second edition. 
 
 The Letter from Italy to my Lord HALIFAX may be con- 
 sidered as the Text, upon which the book of Travels is a large 
 Comment ; and has been esteemed by those who have a 
 relish for Antiquity, as the most exquisite of his poetical per-
 
 T> 
 
 WRITES THE CAMPAIGN. 215 
 
 formances. A Translation of it, by Signor SALVINI, Professor 
 of the Greek tongue, at Florence, is inserted in this edition ; 
 not only on account of its merit, but because it is the 
 language of the country, which is the subject of the Poem. 
 
 The materials for the Dialogues upon Medals, now first 
 printed from a manuscript of the Author, were collected in 
 the native country of those coins. The book itself was 
 begun to be cast in form, at Vienna; as appears from a letter 
 to Mr. STEPNEY, then Minister at that Court, dated in 
 November, 1702. 
 
 Some time before the date of this letter, Mr. ADDISON had 
 designed to return to England; when he received advice from 
 his friends that he was pitched upon to attend the army 
 under Prince EUGENE, who had just begun the war in Italy, 
 as Secretary from His Majesty. But an account of the death 
 of King WILLIAM, which he met with at Geneva, put an end 
 to that thought : and, as his hopes of advancement in his own 
 country, were fallen with the credit of his friends, who were 
 out of power at the beginning of her late Majesty's reign, 
 he had leisure to make the tour of Germany, in his way home. 
 
 He remained, for some time after his return to England, 
 without any public employment : which he did not obtain till 
 the year 1704, when the Duke of MARLBOROUGH arrived at 
 the highest pitch of glory, by delivering all Europe from 
 slavery; and furnished Mr. ADDISON with a subject worthy 
 of that Genius which appears in his Poem, called The Cam- 
 paign. 
 
 The Lord Treasurer GODOLPHIN, who was a fine judge of 
 poetry, had a sight of this Work when it was only carried on 
 as far as the applauded simile of the Angel ; and approved of 
 the Poem, by bestowing on the Author, in a few days after, 
 the place of Commissioner of Appeals, vacant by the removal 
 of the famous Mr. [JOHN] LOCKE to the Council of Trade. 
 
 His next advancement was to the place of Under Sec- 
 retary, which he held under Sir CHARLES HEDGES, and the 
 present Earl of SUNDERLAND. The opera of Rosamond was 
 written while he possessed that employment. What doubts 
 soever have been raised about the merit of the Music, which, 
 as the Italian taste at that time began wholly to prevail, was 
 thought sufficient inexcusable, because it was the com- 
 position of an Englishman ; the Poetry of this Piece has grven
 
 2i6 TICKELL'S INNUENDO AGAINST STEELE. P- ""f^!- 
 
 1731. 
 
 as much pleasure in the closet, as others have afforded from 
 the Stage, with all the assistance of voices and instruments. 
 
 The Comedy called The Tender Husband appeared much 
 about the same time ; to which Mr. ADDISON wrote the Pro- 
 logue. Sir RICHARD STEELE surprised him with a very 
 handsome Dedication of his Play ; and has since acquainted 
 the Public, that he owed some of the most taking scenes of 
 it, to Mr. ADDISON. 
 
 His next step in his fortune, was to the post of Secretary 
 under the late Marquis of WHARTON, who was appointed 
 Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in the year 1709. As I have 
 proposed to touch but very lightly on those parts of his life, 
 which do not regard him as an Author ; I shall not enlarge 
 upon the great reputation he acquired, by his turn for busi- 
 ness, and his unblemished integrity, in this and other employ- 
 ments. 
 
 It must not be omitted here, that the salary of Keeper 
 of the Records in Ireland was considerably raised, and that 
 post bestowed upon him at this time, as a mark of the 
 Queen's favour. 
 
 He was in that Kingdom, when he first discovered Sir 
 RICHARD STEELE to be the Author of the Tatler, by an 
 observation upon VlRGIL, which had been by him com- 
 municated to his friend. The assistance he occasionally 
 gave him afterwards, in the course of the Paper, did not a 
 little contribute to advance its reputation ; and, upon the 
 Change of the Ministry, he found leisure to engage more 
 constantly in that Work : which, however, was dropped at 
 last, as it had been taken up, without his participation. 
 
 In the last Paper, which closed those celebrated Perform- 
 ances, and in the Preface to the last Volume, Sir RICHARD 
 STEELE has given to Mr. ADDISON, the honour of the most 
 applauded Pieces in that Collection. But as that ac- 
 knowledgement was delivered only in general terms, without 
 directing the Public to the several Papers; Mr. ADDISON 
 (who was content with the praise arising from his own Works, 
 and too delicate to take any part of that which belonged to 
 others), afterwards, thought fit to distinguish his Writings in 
 the Spectators and Guardians, by such marks as might remove 
 the least possibility of mistake in the most undiscerning 
 readers.
 
 TlCKELI/S EDITION INDICATES ADDISON's TA TLERS. 2 I 7 
 
 It was necessary that his share in the Tatters should be 
 adjusted in a complete Collection of his Works : for which 
 reason, Sir RICHARD STEELE, in compliance with the request 
 of his deceased friend, delivered to him by the Editor, was 
 pleased to mark with his own hand, those Tatlers, which are 
 inserted in this edition ; and even to point out several, in the 
 writing of which, they were both concerned. 
 
 The Plan of the Spectator, as far as regards the feigned 
 Person of the Author, and of the several Characters that 
 compose his Club, was projected in concert with Sir RICHARD 
 STEELE. And because many passages in the course of the 
 Work would otherwise be obscure, I have taken leave to insert 
 one single Paper written by Sir RICHARD STEELE, wherein 
 those Characters are drawn ; which may serve as a Dramatis 
 Persona^ or as so many pictures for an ornament and 
 explication of the whole. 
 
 As for the distinct Papers, they were never or seldom 
 shewn to each other, by their respective Authors ; who fully 
 answered the Promise they had made, and far outwent the 
 Expectation they had raised, of pursuing their Labour in the 
 same Spirit and Strength with which it was begun. 
 
 It would have been impossible for Mr. ADDISON (who made 
 little or no use of letters sent in, by the numerous correspon- 
 dents of the Spectator) to have executed his large share of his 
 task in so exquisite a manner ; if he had not engrafted into 
 it many Pieces that had lain by him, in little hints and 
 minutes, which he from time to time collected and ranged in 
 order, and moulded into the form in which they now appear. 
 Such are the Essays upon Wit, the Pleasures of the Imagi- 
 nation, the Critique upon MILTON, and some others : which I 
 thought to have connected in a continued Series in this 
 Edition, though they were at first published with the inter- 
 ruption of writings on different subjects. But as such a 
 scheme would have obliged me to cut off several graceful 
 introductions and circumstances peculiarly adapted to the 
 time and occasion of printing then ; I durst not pursue that 
 attempt. 
 
 The Tragedy of CATO appeared in public in the year 1713 ; 
 when the greatest part of the last Act was added by the 
 Author, to the foregoing which he had kept by him for many 
 years. He took up a design of writing a play upon this sub-
 
 218 WHY C A TO HAD ^Q DEDICATION. [ T< 
 
 Tickell. 
 1791. 
 
 ject, when he was very young at the University ; and even 
 attempted something in it there, though not a line as it now 
 stands. The work was performed by him in his travels, and 
 retouched in England, without any formed resolution of 
 bringing it upon the Stage, until his friends of the first Quality 
 and Distinction prevailed on him, to put the last finishing to 
 it, at a time when they thought the Doctrine of Liberty very 
 seasonable. 
 
 It is in everybody's memory, with what applause it was 
 received by the Public ; that the first run of it lasted for a 
 month, and then stopped only because one of the performers 
 became incapable of acting a principal part. 
 
 The Author received a message that the Queen would be 
 pleased to have it dedicated to her : but as he had designed 
 that compliment elsewhere, he found himself obliged, by his 
 duty on the one side, and his honour on the other, to send it 
 into the World without any Dedication. 
 
 The fame of this tragedy soon spread through Europe ; and 
 it has not only been translated, but acted in most of the lan- 
 guages of Christendom. The Translation of it into Italian 
 by Signer SALVINI is very well known : but I have not been 
 able to learn, whether that of Signer VALETTA, a young 
 Neapolitan Nobleman, has ever been made public. 
 
 If he had found time for the writing of another tragedy, the 
 Death of SOCRATES would have been the story. And, how- 
 ever unpromising that subject may appear ; it would be pre- 
 sumptuous to censure his choice, who was so famous for 
 raising the noblest plants from the most barren soil. It serves 
 to shew that he thought the whole labour of such a Perform- 
 ance unworthy to be thrown away upon those Intrigues and 
 Adventures, to which the romantic taste has confined Modern 
 Tragedy: and, after the example of his predecessors in 
 Greece, would have employed the Drama to wear out of our 
 minds everything that is mean or little, to cherish and cultivate that 
 Humanity which is the ornament of our nature, to soften Insolence, 
 to soothe Affliction, and to subdue our minds to the dispensations 
 of Providence. (Spectator. No. 39.) 
 
 Upon the death of the late Queen, the Lords Justices, 
 in whom the Administration was lodged, appointed him their 
 Secretary. 
 
 Soon after His Majesty's arrival in Great Britain, the
 
 T ' Tic i7;] ADDISON'S POSTHUMOUS WORKS. 219 
 
 Earl of SUNDERLAND, being constituted Lord Lieutenant of 
 Ireland ; Mr. ADDISON became, a second time, Secretary for 
 the Affairs of that Kingdom : and was made one of the Lords 
 Commissioners of Trade, a little after his Lordship resigned 
 the post of Lord Lieutenant. 
 
 The Paper called the Freeholder, was undertaken at the time 
 when the Rebellion broke out in Scotland. 
 
 The only Works he left behind for the Public, are the Dia- 
 loguesupon medals, and the Treatise upon the Christian Religion. 
 Some account has been already given of the former : to which 
 nothing is now to be added, except that a great part of the 
 Latin quotations were rendered into English in a very hasty 
 manner by the Editor and one of his friends who had the good 
 nature to assist him, during his avocations of business. It 
 was thought better to add these translations, such as they 
 are ; than to let the Work come out unintelligible to those 
 who do not possess the learned languages. 
 
 The Scheme for the Treatise upon the Christian Religion 
 was formed by the Author, about the end of the late Queen's 
 reign ; at which time, he carefully perused the ancient 
 Writings, which furnish the materials for it. His continual 
 employment in business prevented him from executing it, until 
 he resigned his office of Secretary of State ; and his death put 
 a period to it, when he had imperfectly performed only one 
 half of the design : he having proposed, as appears from the 
 Introduction, to add the Jewish to the Heathen testimonies 
 for the truth of the Christian History. He was more as- 
 siduous than his health would well allow, in the pursuit of 
 this Work : and had long determined to dedicate his Poetry 
 also, for the future, wholly to religious subjects. 
 
 Soon after, he was, from being one of the Lords Commis- 
 sioners of Trade, advanced to the post of Secretary of State ; 
 he found his health impaired by the return of that asthmatic 
 indisposition ; which continued often, to afflict him during his 
 exercise of that employment : and, at last, obliged him to beg 
 His Majesty's leave to resign. 
 
 His freedom from the anxiety of business so far re-estab- 
 lished his health, that his friends began to hope he might 
 last for many years : but (whether it were from a life too
 
 220 ADD i SON'S LETTER TO J. CRA GGS. P- Tic 1 k 7 e 2 1 I I ; 
 
 sedentary; or from his natural constitution, in which was one 
 circumstance very remarkable, that, from his cradle, he never 
 had a regular pulse) a long and painful relapse into an asthma 
 and dropsy deprived the World of this great man, on the I7th 
 of June, 1719. 
 
 He left behind him only one daughter, by the Countess 
 of WARWICK ; to whom he was married in the year 1716. 
 
 Not many days before his death, he gave me directions to 
 collect his Writings, and at the same time committed to my 
 care the Letter addressed to Mr. CRAGGS, his successor as 
 Secretary of State, wherein he bequeaths them to him, as a 
 token of friendship. 
 
 Such a testimony, from the First Man of our Age, in such 
 a point of time, will be perhaps as great and lasting an honour 
 to that Gentleman as any even he could acquire to himself; 
 and yet it is no more than was due from an affection that 
 justly increased towards him, through the intimacy of several 
 years. I cannot, save with the utmost tenderness, reflect on 
 the kind concern with which Mr. ADDISON left Me as a sort of 
 incumbrance upon this valuable legacy. Nor must I deny 
 myself the honour to acknowlege that the goodness of that 
 Great Man to me, like many other of his amiable qualities, 
 seemed not so much to be renewed, as continued in his 
 successor; who made me an example, that nothing could 
 be indifferent to him which came recommended to Mr. 
 ADDISON. 
 
 Could any circumstance be more severe to me, while I was 
 executing these Last Commands of the Author, than to see 
 the Person to whom his Works were presented, cut off in the 
 flower of his age, and carried from the high Office wherein he 
 had succeeded Mr. ADDISON, to be laid next him, in the same 
 grave ? I might dwell upon such thoughts as naturally rise 
 from these minute resemblances in the fortune of two persons, 
 whose names probably will be seldom mentioned asunder 
 while either our Language or Story subsist ; were I not afraid 
 of making this Preface too tedious : especially since I shall 
 want all the patience of the reader, for having enlarged it 
 with the following verses.
 
 221 
 
 To the EARL OF WARWICK 
 On the T)eath of MR. ADDISON. 
 
 F dumb too long, the drooping muse hath stay'd 
 And left her debt to Addison unpaid, 
 Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, 
 And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. 
 What mourner ever felt poetic fires ! 
 Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : 
 Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, 
 Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart 
 Can I forget the dismal night that gave 
 My soul's best part for ever to the grave ! 
 How silent did his old companions tread 
 By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead 
 Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, 
 Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings I 
 What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire ; 
 The pealing organ, and the pausing choir ; 
 The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid ; 
 And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd I
 
 222 TICKELL'S ELEGY ON ADDISON. [* 
 
 TitVelL 
 
 While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, 
 Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. 
 Oh gone for ever ! take this long adieu ; 
 And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. 
 To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, 
 A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine; 
 Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, 
 And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. 
 If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part, 
 May shame afflict this alienated heart ; 
 Of thee forgetful if I form a song, 
 My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue. 
 My grief be doubled from thy image free, 
 And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee. 
 
 Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, 
 Sad luxury ! to vulgar minds unknown, 
 Along the walls, where speaking marbles show 
 What worthies form the hallow'd mould below ; 
 Proud names who once the reins of empire held ; 
 In arms who triumphed ; or in arts excelled ; 
 Chiefs graced with scars and prodigal of blood ; 
 Stern patriots who for sacred freedom stood ; 
 Just men, by whom impartial laws were given ; 
 And saints who taught and led the way to heaven ; 
 Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest 
 Since their foundation came a nobler guest ; 
 Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd 
 A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
 
 TICKELL'S ELEGY ON ADDISON. 223 
 
 In what new region to the just assigned, 
 What new employments please th' unbody'd mind ; 
 A winged virtue, through th' ethereal sky 
 From world to world unweary'd does he fly ? 
 Or curious trace the long laborious maze 
 Of heaven's decrees where wondering angels gaze; 
 Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell 
 How Michael battl'd and the dragon fell, 
 Or mixed with milder cherubim to glow 
 In hymns of love not ill-essay'd below? 
 Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind 
 A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? 
 Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend 
 To me thy aid, thou guardian genius lend 
 When rage misguides me or when fear alarms, 
 When pain distresses or when pleasure charms, 
 In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, 
 And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; 
 Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, 
 Till bliss shall join nor death can part us more. 
 
 That awful form, which, so the heavens decree, 
 Must still be loved and still deplor'd by me 
 In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, 
 Or rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes. 
 If business calls, or crowded courts invite ; 
 Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight ; 
 If in the stage I seek to soothe my care 
 I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ;
 
 224 TICKELL'S ELEGY ON ADDISON. [ T - 
 
 Tickell. 
 
 If pensive to the rural shades I rove, 
 
 His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove ; 
 
 'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong, 
 
 Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song : 
 
 There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, 
 
 A candid censor, and a friend severe ; 
 
 There taught us how to live ; and (oh ! too high 
 
 The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
 
 225 
 
 Sir RICHARD STEELE. 
 
 Dedicatory Epistle to WILLIAM 
 
 CONOR E VE> 
 
 ("This Dedication is prefixed to the Second"! 
 L Edition of ADDISON'S Drummtr, 1722. J 
 
 To Mr. CONGREVE: 
 
 occasioned by Mr. TICKELL'S Preface to the four 
 volumes of Mr. ADDISON'S Works. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 | His is the second time that I have, without 
 your leave, taken the liberty to make a 
 public address to you. 
 
 However uneasy you may be, for your 
 own sake, in receiving compliments of 
 this nature, I depend upon your known 
 humanity for pardon; when I acknowledge 
 that you have this present trouble, for mine. 
 When I take myself to be ill treated with regard to my 
 behaviour to the merit of other men ; my conduct towards 
 you is an argument of my candour that way, as well as that 
 your name and authority will be my protection in it. You 
 will give me leave therefore, in a matter that concerns us in 
 the Poetical World, to make you my judge whether I am not 
 injured in the highest manner ! for with men of your taste 
 and delicacy, it is a high crime and misdemeanour to be 
 guilty of anything that is disingenuous. But I will go into 
 my matter. 
 
 Upon my return from Scotland, I visited Mr. TONSON'S 
 shop, and thanked him for his care in sending to my 
 house, the Volumes of my dear and honoured friend Mr. 
 ADDISON ; which are, at last, published by his Secretary, 
 Mr. TICKELL : but took occasion to observe, that I had not 
 seen the Work before it came out ; which he did not think fit 
 to excuse any otherwise than by a recrimination, that I had 
 put into his hands, at a high price, a Comedy called The
 
 226 THE DRUMMER LEFT OUT OF ADDISON'S WORKS. (J 
 
 Steel*, 
 i/aa. 
 
 Drummer ; which, by my zeal for it, he took to be written by 
 Mr. ADDISON, and of which, after his [ADDISON'S] death, he 
 said, I directly acknowleged he was the author. 
 
 To urge this hardship still more home, he produced a 
 receipt under my hand, in these words 
 
 March 12, I7i5[-i6]. 
 
 Received then, the sum of Fifty Guineas for the Copy [copy- 
 right] of the Comedy called, The Drummer or the Haunted 
 House. / say, received by order of the Author of the said 
 Comedy, RICHARD S T E B L E . 
 
 and added, at the same time, that since Mr. TICKELL had 
 not thought fit to make that play a part of Mr. ADDISON'S 
 Works ; he would sell the Copy to any bookseller that would 
 give most for it [i.e., TONSON threw the onus of the authen- 
 ticity of the Drummer on STEELE]. 
 
 This is represented thus circumstantially, to shew how in- 
 cumbent it is upon me, as well in justice to the bookseller, 
 as for many other considerations, to produce this Comedy a 
 second time [It was first printed in 1716] ; and take this 
 occasion to vindicate myself against certain insinuations 
 thrown out by the Publisher [THOMAS TICKELL] of Mr. 
 ADDISON'S Writings, concerning my behaviour in the nicest 
 circumstance that of doing justice to the Merit of my Friend. 
 
 I shall take the liberty, before I have ended this Letter, 
 to say why I believe the Drummer a performance of Mr. 
 ADDISON : and after I have declared this, any surviving 
 writer may be at ease ; if there be any one who has hitherto 
 been vain enough to hope, or silly enough to fear, it may be 
 given to himself. 
 
 Before I go any further, I must make my Public Appeal to 
 you and all the Learned World, and humbly demand, Whether 
 it was a decent and reasonable thing, that Works written, 
 as a great part of Mr. ADDISON'S were, in correspondence 
 [coadjutor ship] with me, ought to have been published with- 
 out my review of the Catalogue of them ; or if there were 
 any exception to be made against any circumstance in my 
 conduct, Whether an opportunity to explain myself should 
 not have been allowed me, before any Reflections were made 
 on me in print. 
 
 When I had perused Mr. TICKELL'S Preface, I had soon
 
 Sir R ' St i e 7 e :] TICKELL'S RABID JEALOUSY OF STEELE. 227 
 
 so many objections, besides his omission to say anything of 
 the Drummer, against his long-expected performance : the 
 chief intention of which (and which it concerns me first to 
 examine) seems to aim at doing the deceased Author justice, 
 against me ! whom he insinuates to have assumed to myself, 
 part of the merit of my friend. 
 
 He is pleased, Sir, to express himself concerning the 
 present Writer, in the following manner 
 
 The Comedy called The Tender Husband, appeared much 
 about the same time; to which Mr. ADDISON wrote the Prologue: 
 Sir RICHARD STEELE surprised him with a very handsome 
 Dedication of this Play ; and has since acquainted the Public, 
 that he owed some of the most taking scenes of it, to Mr. ADDISON. 
 Mr. TICKELL'S Preface. Pag. it 
 
 He was in that Kingdom [Ireland] , when he first discovered 
 Sir RICHARD STEELE to be the Author of the Tatler, by an 
 observation upon VIRGIL, which had been by him communicated 
 to his friend. The assistance he occasionally gave him afterwards, 
 in the course of the Paper, did not a little contribute to advance its 
 reputation ; and, upon the Change of the Ministry [in the autumn 
 of 1710] , he found leisure to engage more constantly in that 
 Work : which, however, was dropped at last, as it had been taken 
 up, without his participation. 
 
 In the last Paper which closed those celebrated Performances, 
 and in the Preface to the last Volume, Sir RICHARD STEELE 
 has given to Mr. ADDISON, the honour of the most applauded 
 Pieces in that Collection. But as that acknowledgement was 
 delivered only in general terms, without directing the Public to 
 the several Papers ; Mr. ADDISON (who was content with the 
 praise arising from his own Works, and too delicate to take any 
 part of that which belonged to others'), afterwards thought fit to 
 distinguish his Writings in the Spectators and Guardians by 
 such marks as might remove the least possibility of mistake in the 
 most undiscerning readers. It was necessary that his share in the 
 Tatlers should be adjusted in a complete Collection of his Works : 
 for which reason, Sir RICHARD STEELE, in compliance with the 
 request of his deceased friend, delivered to him by the Editor, was 
 pleased to mark with his own hand, those Tatlers which are 
 inserted in this edition; and even to point out several, in the 
 writing of which, they both were concerned. Pa g- I2 -
 
 228 STEELE'S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS OF ADDISON. [ ! 
 
 ;Sir R. SueU. 
 1722. 
 
 The Plan of the Spectator, as far as it related to the feigned 
 Person of the Author, and of the several Characters that compose 
 his Club, was projected in concert with Sir RICHARD STEELB : 
 and because many passages in the course of the Work would other- 
 wise be obscure, I have taken leave to insert one Paper written 
 by Sir RICHARD STEELE, wherein those Characters are drawn ; 
 which may serve as a Dramatis Personae, or as so many pictures 
 for an ornament and explication of the whole. As for the distinct 
 Papers, they were never or seldom shewn to each other, by their 
 respective Authors ; who fully answered the Promise they made, 
 and far outwent the Expectation they had raised, of pursuing their 
 Labour in the same Spirit and Strength withwhich it was begun. 
 Page 13. 
 
 It need not be explained that it is here intimated, that I 
 had not sufficiently acknowledged what was due to Mr. 
 ADDISON in these Writings. I shall make a full Answer to 
 what seems intended by the words, He was too delicate to take 
 any part of that which belonged to others ; if I can recite out of 
 my own Papers, anything that may make it appear groundless. 
 
 The subsequent [following] encomiums bestowed by me 
 on Mr. ADDISON will, I hope, be of service to me in this 
 particular. 
 
 But I have only one Gentleman, who will be nameless, to 
 thank for any frequent assistance to me : which indeed it would 
 have been barbarous in him, to have denied to one with whom he 
 has lived in an intimacy from childhood ; considering the great 
 Ease with which he is able to despatch the most entertaining Pieces 
 of this nature. This good office he performed with such force of 
 Genius, Humour, Wit, and Learning, that I fared like a distressed 
 Prince who calls in a powerful neighbour to his aid ; I was undone 
 by my auxiliary ! When I had once called him in, I could not 
 subsist without dependence on him. 
 
 The same Hand wrote the distinguishing Characters of Men 
 and Women under the names of Musical Instruments, the 
 Distress of the News- Writers, the Inventory of the Play 
 House, and the Description of the Thermometer; which I 
 cannot but look upon, as the greatest embellishments of this Work. 
 Pref. to the 4th Vol. of the Toilers. 
 
 As to the Work itself, the acceptance it has met with is the best 
 proof of its value : but I should err against that candour which 
 an honest man should always carry about him, if I did not own
 
 Sir R. Steele. 
 1722. 
 
 ;] STEELE'S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS OF ADDISON. 229 
 
 that the most approved Pieces in it were written by others ; and 
 those, which have been most excepted against by myself. The 
 Hand that has assisted me in those noble Discourses upon the 
 Immortality of the Soul, the Glorious Prospects of another Life, and 
 the most sublime ideas of Religion and Virtue, is a person, who is 
 too fondly my friend ever to own them : but I should little deserve 
 to be his, if I usurped the glory of them. I must acknowledge, at 
 the same time, that I think the finest strokes of Wit and Humour 
 in all Mr. BICKERSTAFF'S Lucubrations, are those for which he 
 is also beholden to him. Tatler, No. 271. 
 
 / hope the Apology I have made as to the license allowable to a 
 feigned Character may excuse anything which has been said in 
 these Discourses of the Spectator and his Works. But the imputation 
 of the grossest vanity would still dwell upon me, if I did not give 
 some account by what means I was enabled to keep up the Spirit 
 of so long and approved a performance. All the Papers marked 
 with a C, L, I, or O that is to say, all the Papers which I have 
 distinguished by any letter in the name of the Muse C L I O 
 were given me by the Gentleman, of whose assistance I formerly 
 boasted in the Preface and concluding Leaf of the Tatler. I am 
 indeed much more proud of his long-continued friendship, than I 
 should be of the fame of being thought the Author of any Writings 
 which he himself is capable of producing. 
 
 I remember, when I finished the Tender Husband ; I told him, 
 there was nothing I so ardently wished as that we might, some 
 time or other, publish a Work written by us both ; which should 
 bear the name of the Monument, in memory of our friendship. I 
 heartily wish what I have done here, were as honorary to that 
 sacred name, as Learning, Wit, and Humanity render those Pieces, 
 which I have taught the reader how to distinguish for his. 
 
 When the Play above mentioned was last acted, there were so 
 many applauded strokes in it which I had from the same hand, 
 that I thought very meanly of myself that I had never publicly 
 acknowledged them. 
 
 After I have put other friends upon importuning him to publish 
 Dramatic as well as other Writings, he has by him ; I shall end 
 what I think I am obliged to say on this head, by giving the reader 
 this hint for the better judgement of my productions: that the best 
 Comment upon them would be, an Account when the Patron [i.e., 
 ADDISON] to the Tender Husband was in England or abroad 
 [i.e., Ireland]. Spectator, No 555
 
 230 TlCKELL, AN INTERMEDLER IN THINGS ABOVE HIM.p e. 
 
 My purpose in this Application is only to shew the esteem I have 
 for you, and that I look upon my intimacy with you as one of the 
 most valuable enjoyments of my life. Dedication before the Tendet 
 Husband. 
 
 I am sure, you have read my quotations with indignation 
 against the little [petty] zeal which prompted the Editor (who 
 by the way, has himself done nothing in applause of the Works 
 which he prefaces) to the mean endeavour of adding to Mr. 
 ADDISON, by disparaging a man who had (for the greatest part 
 of his life) been his known bosom friend, and shielded him 
 from all the resentments which many of his own Works would 
 have brought upon him, at the time they were written. It is 
 really a good office to Society, to expose the indiscretion of 
 Intermedlers int he friendship and correspondence [coadjutor- 
 ship] of men, whose sentiments, passions, and resentments are 
 too great for their proportion of soul ! 
 
 Could the Editor's indiscretion provoke me, even so far as 
 (within the rules of strictest honour) I could go ; and I were 
 not restrained by supererogatory affection to dear Mr. ADDISON, 
 I would ask this unskilful Creature, What he means, when 
 he speaks in an air of a reproach, that the Tatler was laid 
 down as it was taken up, without his participation ? Let him speak 
 out and say, why without his knowledge would not serve his 
 purpose as well ! 
 
 If, as he says, he restrains himself to " Mr. APDISON'S 
 character as a Writer ; " while he attempts to lessen me, he 
 exalts me ! for he has declared to all the World what I never 
 have so explicitly done, that I am, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, the Author of the Tatler! He very justly says, the 
 occasional assistance Mr. ADDISON gave me. in the course of 
 that Paper, " did not a little contribute to advance its reputa- 
 tion, especially when, upon the Change of Ministry [August, 
 1710], he found leisure to engage more constantly in it." It 
 was advanced indeed ! for it was raised to a greater thing 
 than I intended it ! For the elegance, purity, and correctness 
 which appeared in his Writings were not so much my pur- 
 pose ; as (in any intelligible manner, as I could) to rally all 
 those Singularities of human life, through the different Pro- 
 fessions and Characters in it, which obstruct anything that 
 was truly good and great.
 
 SirR ' St ^'.l TICKELL'S FANTASTICAL & IGNORANT ZEAL. 231 
 
 After this Acknowledgement, you will see ; that is, such 
 a man as you will see, that I rejoiced in being excelled ! 
 and made those little talents (whatever they are) which I 
 have, give way and be subservient to the superior qualities of 
 a Friend, whom I loved ! and whose modesty would never 
 have admitted them to come into daylight, but under such a 
 shelter. 
 
 So that all which the Editor has said (either out of design, 
 or incapacity), Mr. CONGREVE ! must end in this : that 
 STEELE has been so candid and upright, that he owes 
 nothing to Mr. ADDISON as a Writer ; but whether he do, or 
 does not, whatever STEELE owes to Mr. ADDISON, the Public 
 owe ADDISON to STEELE ! 
 
 But the Editor has such a fantastical and ignorant zeal 
 for his Patron, that he will not allow his correspondents 
 [coadjutors] to conceal anything of his ; though in obedience 
 to his commands 1 
 
 What I never did declare was Mr. ADDISON'S, I had his 
 direct injunctions to hide ; against the natural warmth and 
 passion of my own temper towards my friends. 
 
 Many of the Writings now published as his, I have been 
 very patiently traduced and culminated for ; as they were 
 pleasantries and oblique strokes upon certain of the wittiest 
 men of the Age : who will now restore me to their goodwill, 
 in proportion to the abatement of [the] Wit which they 
 thought I employed against them. 
 
 But I was saying, that the Editor won't allow us to obey 
 his Patron's commands in anything which he thinks would 
 redound to his credit, if discovered. And because I would 
 shew a little Wit in my anger, I shall have the discretion to 
 shew you that he has been guilty, in this particular, towards 
 a much greater man than your humble servant, and one 
 whom you are much more obliged to vindicate. 
 
 Mr. DRYDEN, in his VIRGIL, after having acknowledged 
 that a "certain excellent young man" [i.e., W. CONGREVE 
 himself] had shewed him many faults in his translation of 
 VIRGIL, which he had endeavoured to correct, goes on to 
 say, " Two other worthy friends of mine, who desire to have 
 their names concealed, seeing me straightened in my time, 
 took pity on me, and gave me the Life of VIRGIL, the two Pre- 
 faces to the Pastorals and the Georgics, and all the Arguments
 
 232 TICKELL'S EARNESTNESS TO DISPARAGE STEELE.[ R - 
 
 Steel*. 
 
 1721. 
 
 in prose to the whole Translation." If Mr. ADDISON is one of 
 the two friends, and the Preface to the Georgics be what the 
 Editor calls the Essay upon the Georgics as one may adventure 
 to say they are, from their being word for word the same, he 
 has cast an inhuman reflection upon Mr. DRYDEN : who, 
 though tied down not to name Mr. ADDISON, pointed at him 
 so as all Mankind conservant in these matters knew him, 
 with an eulogium equal to the highest merit, considering 
 who it was that bestowed it. I could not avoid remarking 
 upon this circumstance, out of justice to Mr. DRYDEN : but 
 confess, at the same time, I took a great pleasure in doing it ; 
 because I knew, in exposing this outrage, I made my court 
 to Mr. CONGREVE. 
 
 I have observed that the Editor will not let me or any one 
 else obey Mr. ADDISON'S commands, in hiding anything he 
 desired to be concealed. 
 
 I cannot but take further notice, that the circumstance of 
 marking his Spectators [with the letters C, L, I, O,], which I 
 did not know till I had done with the Work ; I made my own 
 act ! because I thought it too great a sensibility in my friend ; 
 and thought it (since it was done) better to be supposed 
 marked by me than the Author himself. The real state of 
 which, this zealot rashly and injudiciously exposes ! I ask 
 the reader, Whether anything but an earnestness to disparage 
 me could provoke the Editor, in behalf of Mr. ADDISON, to 
 say that he marked it out of caution against me : when I had 
 taken upon me to say, it was I that did it ! out of tenderness 
 to him. 
 
 As the imputation of any the Least Attempt of arrogating 
 to myself, or detracting from Mr. ADDISON, is without any 
 Colour of Truth : you will give me leave to go on in the same 
 ardour towards him, and resent the cold, unaffectionate, dry, 
 and barren manner, in which this Gentleman gives an Account 
 of as great a Benefactor as any one Learned Man ever had of 
 another. Would any man, who had been produced from a 
 College life, and pushed into one of the most considerable 
 Employments of the Kingdom as to its weight and trust, and 
 greatly lucrative with respect to a Fellowship [i.e., of a 
 College] : and who hati been daily and hourly with one of the 
 greatest men of the Age, be satisfied with himself, in saying 
 nothing of such a Person besides what all the World knew !
 
 Sir R. Stede/j 'frcKELL, EXECUTOR FOR ADDISON's FAME. 233 
 
 except a particularity (and that to his disadvantage !) which 
 I, his friend from a boy, don't know to be true, to wit, that 
 " he never had a regular pulse " ! 
 
 As for the facts, and considerable periods of his life, he 
 either knew nothing of them, or injudiciously places them in 
 a worse light than that in which they really stood. 
 
 When he speaks of Mr. ADDISON'S declining to go into 
 Orders, his way of doing it is to lament his seriousness and 
 modesty, which might have recommended him, proved the 
 chief obstacles to it, it seems these qualities, by which the Priesthood 
 is so much adorned, represented the duties of it as too weighty for him, 
 and rendered him still more worthy of that honour which they 
 made him decline. These, you know very well ! were not the 
 Reasons which made Mr. ADDISON turn his thoughts to the 
 civil World ; and, as you were the instrument of his becom- 
 ing acquainted with my Lord HALIFAX, I doubt not but you 
 remember the warm instances that noble Lord made to the 
 Head of the College, not to insist upon Mr. ADDISON'S going 
 into Orders. His arguments were founded on the general 
 pravity [depravity] and corruption of men of business [public 
 men] who wanted liberal education. And I remember, as if 
 I read the letter yesterday, that my Lord ended with a 
 compliment, that "however he might be represented as no 
 friend to the Church, he would never do it any other injury 
 than keeping Mr. ADDISON out of it ! " 
 
 The contention for this man in his early youth, among the 
 people of greatest power; Mr. Secretary TICKELL, the 
 Executor for his Fame, is pleased to ascribe to " a serious 
 visage and modesty of behaviour." 
 
 When a Writer is grossly and essentially faulty, it were a 
 jest to take notice of a false expression or a phrase, otherwise 
 Priesthood in that place, might be observed upon ; as a term 
 not used by the real well-wishers to Clergymen, except when 
 they would express some solemn act, and not when that 
 Order is spoken of as a Profession among Gentlemen. I will 
 not therefore busy myself about the " unconcerning parts of 
 knowledge, but be content like a reader of plain sense without 
 politeness." And since Mr. Secretary will give us no account 
 of this Gentleman, I admit "the Alps and Apennines" instead 
 of the Editor, to be " Commentators of his Works," which, 
 as the Editor says, " have raised a demand for correctness."
 
 234 AFFECTION OF THE ADDISON FAMILY FOR STEELE.[ 
 
 Steele. 
 1722. 
 
 This " demand," by the way, ought to be more strong upon 
 those who were most about him, and had the greatest ad- 
 vantage of his example. But as our Editor says, " that 
 those who come nearest to exactness are but too often fond 
 of unnatural beauties, and aim at something better than 
 perfection." 
 
 Believe me, Sir, Mr. ADDISON'S example will carry no man 
 further than that height for which Nature capacitated him : 
 and the affectation of following great men in works above the 
 genius of their imitators, will never rise farther than the pro- 
 duction of uncommon and unsuitable ornaments in a barren 
 discourse, like flowers upon a heath, such as the Author's 
 phrase of " something better than perfection." 
 
 But in his Preface, if ever anything was, is that " some- 
 thing better : " for it is so extraordinary, that we cannot say, 
 it is too long or too short, or deny but that it is both. I 
 think I abstract myself from all manner of prejudice when I 
 aver that no man, though without any obligation to Mr. 
 ADDISON, would have represented him in his family and in 
 his friendships, or his personal character, so disadvantageously 
 as his Secretary (in preference of whom, he incurred the 
 warmest resentments of other Gentlemen) has been pleased 
 to describe him in those particulars. 
 
 Mr. Dean ADDISON, father of this memorable Man, left 
 behind him four children, each of whom, for excellent talents 
 and singular preferments, was as much above the ordinary 
 World as their brother JOSEPH was above them. Were 
 things of this nature to be exposed to public view, I could 
 shew under the Dean's own hand, in the warmest terms, his 
 blessing on the friendship between his son and me ; nor had 
 he a child who did not prefer me in the first place of kindness 
 and esteem, as their father loved me like one of them : and I 
 can with pleasure say, I never omitted any opportunity of 
 shewing that zeal for their persons and Interests as became 
 a Gentleman and a Friend. 
 
 Were I now to indulge myself, I could talk a great deal to 
 you, which I am sure would be entertaining : but as I am 
 speaking at the same time to all the World, I consider it 
 would be impertinent.
 
 Sir R. Steekj S TEELE ' S SPLENDID SKETCH OF AoDISON. 235 
 
 Let me then confine myself awhile to the following Play 
 [The Drummer], which I at first recommended to the Stage, 
 and carried to the Press. 
 
 No one who reads the Preface which I published with it, 
 will imagine I could be induced to say so much, as I then 
 did, had I not known the man I best loved had had a part in 
 it ; or had I believed that any other concerned had much 
 more to do than as an amanuensis. 
 
 But, indeed, had I not known at the time of the transac- 
 tion concerning the acting on the Stage and the sale of the 
 Copy; I should, I think, have seen Mr. ADDISON in every 
 page of it ! For he was above all men in that talent we call 
 Humour; and enjoyed it in such perfection, that I have often 
 reflected, after a night spent with him apart from the World, 
 that I had had the pleasure of conversing with an intimate 
 acquaintance of TERENCE and CATULLUS, who had all their 
 Wit and Nature heightened with Humour more exquisite 
 and delightful than any other man ever possessed. 
 
 They who shall read this Play, after being let into the secret 
 that it was written by Mr. ADDISON or under his direction, 
 will probably be attentive to those excellencies which they 
 before overlooked, and wonder they did not till now observe 
 that there is not an expression in the whole Piece which has 
 not in it the most nice propriety and aptitude to the Character 
 which utters it. Here is that smiling Mirth, that delicate 
 Satire and genteel Raillery, which appeared in Mr. ADDISON 
 when he was free among intimates ; I say, when he was free 
 from his remarkable bashfulness, which is a cloak that hides 
 and muffles merit : and his abilities were covered only by 
 modesty, which doubles the beauties which are seen, and gives 
 credit and esteem to all that are concealed. 
 
 The Drummer made no great figure on the Stage, though 
 exquisitely well acted : but when I observe this, I say a much 
 harder thing of the Stage, than of the Comedy. 
 
 When I say the Stage in this place, I am understood to 
 mean, in general, the present Taste of theatrical representa- 
 tions : where nothing that is not violent, and as I may say, 
 grossly delightful, can come on, without hazard of being 
 condemned or slighted. 
 
 It is here republished, and recommended as a closet piece 
 [i.e., for private reading], to recreate an intelligent mind in a
 
 236 STEELE, AN AIDE-DE-CAMP TO ADDISON. [ Slr ** 
 
 vacant hour: for vacant the reader must be, from every 
 strong prepossession, in order to relish an entertainment, 
 quod nequeo monstrare etsentio tantum, which cannot be enjoyed 
 to the degree it deserves, but by those of the most polite 
 Taste among Scholars, the best Breeding among Gentlemen, 
 and the least acquainted with sensual Pleasure among the 
 Ladies. 
 
 The Editor [THOMAS TICKELL] is pleased to relate con- 
 cerning CATO, that a Play under that design was projected by 
 the Author very early, and wholly laid aside ; in advanced 
 years, he reassumed the same design ; and many years after 
 Four acts were finished, he wrote the Fifth ; and brought it 
 upon the Stage. 
 
 All the Town knows, how officious I was in bringing it on, 
 and you (that know the Town, the Theatre, and Mankind 
 very well) can judge how necessary it was, to take measures 
 for making a performance of that sort, excellent as it is, run 
 into popular applause. 
 
 I promised before it was acted (and performed my duty ac- 
 cordingly to the Author), that I would bring together so just 
 an audience on the First Days of it, it should be impossible for 
 the vulgar to put its success or due applause at any hazard : 
 but I don't mention this, only to shew how good an Aide-de- 
 Camp I was to Mr. ADDISON ; but to shew also that the Editor 
 does as much to cloud the merit of this Work, as I did to 
 set it forth. 
 
 Mr. TICKELL'S account of its being taken up, laid down, 
 and at last perfected, after such long intervals and pauses, 
 would make any one believe, who did not know Mr. ADDISON, 
 that it was accomplished with the greatest pain and labour ; 
 and the issue rather of Learning and Industry than Capacity 
 and Genius : but I do assure you, that never Play which could 
 bring the author any reputation for Wit and Conduct, not- 
 withstanding it was so long before it was finished, employed 
 the Author so little a time in writing. 
 
 If I remember right, the Fifth Act was written in less than 
 a week's time ! For this was particular in this Writer, that 
 when he had taken his resolution, or made his Plan for what 
 he designed to write ; he would walk about the room and 
 dictate it into Language, with as much freedom and ease as
 
 5trR ' St i e 7 e i:] STEELE OFTEN AN AMANUENSIS TO ADDISON. 237 
 
 any one could write it down : and attend to the Coherence 
 and Grammar of what he dictated. 
 
 I have been often thus employed by him; and never took 
 it into my head, though he only spoke it and I took all the 
 pains of throwing it upon paper, that I ought to call myself 
 the Writer of it. 
 
 I will put all my credit among men of Wit for the truth of 
 my averment, when I presume to say that no one but Mr. 
 ADDISON was, in any other way, the Writer of the Drummer. 
 
 At the same time, I will allow, that he sent for me (which 
 he could always do, from his natural power over me, as much 
 as he could send for any of his clerks when he was Secretary 
 of State), and told me that a Gentleman then in the room 
 had written a play that he was sure I would like ; but it was 
 to be a secret : and he knew I would take as much pains, 
 since he recommended it, as I would for him. . 
 
 I hope nobody will be wronged or think himself aggrieved, 
 that I give this rejected Work [the Comedy o/The Drummer not 
 included by TICKELL in his collected edition of ADDISON' s Works] 
 where I do : and if a certain Gentleman [TiCKELL] is injured 
 by it, I will allow I have wronged him upon this issue ; that 
 if the reputed translator [TiCKELL] of the First Book of 
 HOMER shall please to give us another Book, there shall 
 appear another good Judge in poetry, besides Mr. ALEXANDER 
 POPE, who shall like it ! 
 
 But I detain you too long upon things that are too personal 
 to myself, and will defer giving the World a true Notion of 
 the Character and Talents of Mr. ADDISON, till I can speak 
 of that amiable Gentlemen on an occasion void of con- 
 troversy. 
 
 I shall then perhaps say many things of him which will be 
 new even to you, with regard to him in all parts of his 
 Character: for which I was so zealous, that I could not 
 be contented with praising and adorning him as much as lay 
 in my own power ; but was ever soliciting and putting my 
 friends upon the same office. 
 
 And since the Editor [TiCKELL] has adorned his heavy
 
 238TICKELI/S ATTEMPT ON STEELE*S REPUTATION. [ 
 
 Discourse with Prose in rhyme at the end of it, upon Mr. 
 ADDISON'S death : give me leave to atone for this long and 
 tedious Epistle, by giving after it, what I dare say you will 
 esteem, an excellent Poem on his marriage [by Mr. WEL- 
 STED]. 
 
 I must conclude without satisfying as strong a desire, as 
 every man had, of saying something remarkably handsome to 
 the Person to whom I am writing : for you are so good a 
 judge, that you would find out the Endeavourer to be witty ! 
 and therefore, as I have tired you and myself, I will be con- 
 tented with assuring you, which I do very honestly, I would 
 rather have you satisfied with me on this subject, than any 
 other man living. 
 
 You will please pardon me, that I have, thus, laid this nice 
 affair before a person who has the acknowledged superiority to 
 all others ; not only in the most excellent talents ; but possess- 
 ing them with an equanimity, candour, and benevolence which 
 render those advantages a pleasure as great to the rest of the 
 World as they can be to the owner of them. And since Fame 
 consists in the Opinion of wise and good men : you must not 
 blame me for taking the readiest way to baffle any Attempt 
 upon my Reputation, by an Address to one, whom every wise 
 and good man looks upon, with the greatest affection and 
 r eneration. 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged, 
 most obedient, and 
 
 most humble servant, 
 
 RICHARD STEEL E.
 
 239 
 
 EDWARD CHAMBERLAYNE. 
 
 The social position of the English Estab- 
 lished Clergy^ in 1669, A. D. 
 
 [Anglite Notitia, or the Present State of England, ist Ed. 1669.] 
 
 |T PRESENT, the revenues of the English Clergy are 
 generally very small and insufficient : above a 
 third of the best benefices of England, having 
 been anciently, by the Pope's grant, appropriated to 
 monasteries, were on their dissolution, made Lay 
 fees ; besides what hath been taken by secret and indirect 
 means, through corrupt compositions and compacts and 
 customs in many other parishes. And also many estates 
 being wholly exempt from paying tithes, as the lands that 
 belonged to the Cistercian Monks, and to the Knights 
 Templars and Hospitallers. 
 
 And those benefices that are free from these things are 
 yet (besides First Fruits and Tenths to the King, and Pro- 
 curations to the Bishop) taxed towards the charges of their 
 respective parishes, and towards the public charges of the 
 nation, above and beyond the proportion of the Laity. 
 
 The Bishoprics of England have been also since the latter 
 of HENRY VIII. 's reign, to the coming in of King JAMES, 
 most miserably robbed and spoiled of the greatest part of 
 their lands and revenues. So that, at this day [1669], a 
 mean gentleman of 200 from land yearly, will not 
 change his worldly estate and condition with divers Bishops : 
 and an Attorney, a shopkeeper, a common artisan will hardly 
 change theirs, with the ordinary Pastors of the Church. 
 
 Some few Bishoprics do yet retain a competency. Amongst 
 which, the Bishopric of Durham is accounted one of the 
 chief : the yearly revenues whereof, before the late troubles 
 [i.e., the Civil Wars] were above 6,000 [=25,000 now] : of 
 which by the late Act for abolishing Tenures in capite [1660], 
 was lost about 2,000 yearly.
 
 240 CLERGY THOUGHT THE REFUSE OF NATION. [ Ch * mb * rl * y ^; 
 
 Out of this revenue, a yearly pension of 800 is paid to 
 the Crown, ever since the reign of Queen ELIZABETH ; who 
 promised, in lieu thereof, so much in Impropriations : which 
 was never performed. 
 
 Above 340 yearly is paid to several officers of the County 
 Palatine of Durham. 
 
 The Assizes and Sessions, also, are duly kept in the 
 Bishop's House, at the sole charges of the Bishop. 
 
 Also the several expenses for keeping in repair certain 
 banks of rivers in that Bishopric, and of several Houses 
 belonging to the Bishopric. 
 
 Moreover, the yearly Tenths, public taxes, the charges of 
 going to and waiting at Parliament, being deducted ; there 
 will remain, in ordinary years, to the Bishop to keep hospi- 
 tality, which must be great, and to provide for those of his 
 family, but about 1,500 [=4,500 now] yearly. 
 
 The like might be said of some other principal Bishoprics. 
 
 The great diminution of the revenues of the Clergy, and the 
 little care of augmenting and defending the patrimony of the 
 Church, is the great reproach and shame of the English 
 Reformation ; and will, one day, prove the ruin of Church 
 and State. 
 
 " It is the last trick," saith St. GREGORY, " that the Devil 
 hath in this world. When he cannot bring the Word and 
 Sacraments into disgrace by errors and heresies ; he invents 
 thisproject.to bring the Clergy into contempt and low esteem." 
 
 As it is now in England, where they are accounted by 
 many, the Dross and Refuse of the nation. Men think it 
 a stain to their blood to place their sons in that function ; 
 and women are ashamed to marry with any of them. 
 
 It hath- been observed, even by strangers, that the iniquity 
 of the present Times in England is such, that the English 
 Clergy are not only hated by the Romanists on the one side, 
 and maligned by the Presbyterians on the other . . . ; but 
 also that, of all the Christian Clergy of Europe, whether 
 Romish, Lutheran, or Calvinistic, none are so little respected, 
 beloved, obeyed, or rewarded, as the present pious, learned, 
 loyal Clergy of England ; even by those who have always 
 professed themselves of that Communion.
 
 THE 
 
 GROUNDS & OCCASIONS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CLERGY 
 
 AND 
 
 RELIGION 
 
 Enquired into. 
 In a LETTER written to R. L. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed by W. GODBID for N. BROOKE at the 
 Angel in Cornhill. 1670.
 
 242 
 
 This work is dated August 8, 1670. ANTHONY A WOOD in his Lift 
 (Ath. Oxon. I. Ixx. Ed. 1813), gives the following account of our Author. 
 
 February 9 [1672] A. W. went to London, and the next 
 day he was kindly receiv'd by Sir LIOLIN JENKYNS, in his 
 apartment in Exeter house in the Strand, within the city of 
 Westminster. 
 
 Sunday n [Feb. 1672], Sir LIOLIN JENKYNS took with 
 him, in the morning, over the water to Lambeth, A. WOOD, 
 and after prayers, he conducted him up to the dining rome, 
 where archb. SHELDON received him, and gave him his 
 blessing. There then dined among the company, JOHN 
 ECHARD, the author of The Contempt of the Clergy, who sate 
 at the lower end of the table between the archbishop's two 
 chaplayns SAMUEL PARKER and THOMAS THOMKINS, being 
 the first time that the said ECHARD was introduced into the 
 said archbishop's company. After dinner, the archbishop 
 went into his withdrawing roome, and ECHARD with the 
 chaplaynes and RALPH SNOW to their lodgings to drink and 
 smoak. 
 
 JOHN EACHARD, S.T.P., was appointed Master of Catherine Hall, 
 Cambridge, in 1675.]
 
 243 
 
 THE P RE FACE TO THE READER. 
 
 CAN very easily fancy that many, upon the very first 
 sight of the title, will presently imagine that the 
 Author does either want the Great Tithes, lying 
 under the pressure of some pitiful vicarage ; or that he 
 is much out of humour, and dissatisfied with the present condition 
 of affairs; or, lastly, that he writes to no purpose at all, there 
 having been an abundance of unprofitable advisers in this kind. 
 
 As to my being under some low Church dispensation ; you may 
 know, I write not out of a pinching necessity, or out of any rising 
 design. You may please to believe that, although I have a most 
 solemn reverence for the Clergy in general, and especially for that 
 of England ; yet, for my own part, I must confess to you, I am 
 not of that holy employment ; and have as little thought of being 
 Dean or Bishop, as they that think so, have hopes of being all Lord 
 Keepers. 
 
 Nor less mistaken will they be, that shall judge me in the least 
 discontented, or any ways disposed to disturb the peace of the 
 present settled Church: for, in good truth, I have neither lost 
 King's, nor Bishop's lands, that should incline me to a surly and 
 quarrelsome complaining; as many be, who would have been 
 glad enough to see His Majesty restored, and -would have endured 
 Bishops daintily well, had they lost no money by their coming in. 
 
 I am not, I will assure you, any of those Occasional Writers, 
 that, missing preferment in the University, can presently write you 
 their new ways of Education ; or being a little tormented with
 
 244 PREFACE TO THE R E A D E R. [ T - B - u- *? 
 
 an ill-chosen wife, set forth the doctrine of Divorce to be truly 
 evangelical. 
 
 The cause of these few sheets was honest and innocent, and as 
 free from all passion as any design. 
 
 As for the last thing which I supposed objected, viz., that this 
 book is altogether needless, there having been an infinite number 
 of Church- and Clergy -menders, that have made many tedious and 
 unsuccessful offers : I must needs confess, that it were very un- 
 reasonable for me to expect a better reward. 
 
 Only thus much, I think, with modesty may be said: that I 
 cannot at present call to mind anything that is propounded but 
 what is very hopeful, and easily accomplished. For, indeed, should 
 I go about to tell you, that a child can never prove a profitable 
 Instructor of the people, unless born when the sun is in Aries ; or 
 brought up in a school that stands full South : that he can never 
 be able to govern a parish, unless he can ride the great horse ; or 
 that he can never go through the great work of the Ministry, unless 
 for three hundred years backward it can be proved that none of 
 his family ever had cough, ague, or grey hair : then I should very 
 patiently endure to be reckoned among the vainest that ever made 
 attempt. 
 
 But believe me, Reader 1 I am not, as you will easily see, any 
 contriver of an incorruptible and pure crystaline Church, or any 
 expecter of a reign of nothing but Saints and Worthies : but only 
 an honest and hearty Wisher that the best of our Clergy might, 
 for ever, continue as they are, rich and learned ! and that the rest 
 might be very useful and well esteemed in their Profession I
 
 245 
 
 THE 
 
 GROUNDS AND OCCASIONS 
 
 O F TH E 
 
 CONTEMPT 
 
 SIR, 
 
 Enquired into. 
 
 HAT short discourse which we lately had 
 concerning the Clergy, continues so fresh 
 in your mind, that, I perceive by your last, 
 you are more than a little troubled to 
 observe that Disesteem that lies upon 
 several of those holy men. Your good 
 wishes for the Church, I know, are very 
 strong and unfeigned ; and your hopes of 
 the World receiving much more advantage and better advice 
 from some of the Clergy, than usually it is found by experience 
 to do, are neither needless nor impossible. 
 
 And as I have always been a devout admirer as well as 
 strict observer of your actions ; so I have constantly taken a 
 great delight to concur with you in your very thoughts. 
 Whereupon it is, Sir, that I have spent some few hours upon 
 that which was the occasion of your last letter, and the 
 subject of our late discourse. 
 
 And before, Sir, I enter upon telling you what are my 
 apprehensions ; I must most heartily profess that, for my 
 own part, I did never think, since at all I understood the 
 excellency and perfection of a Church, but that Ours, now 
 lately Restored, as formerly Established, does far outgo, as to
 
 246 BAD SCHOOLING OF THE CLERGY. [ 
 
 all Christian ends and purposes, either the pomp and bravery 
 of Rome herself, or the best of Free Spiritual States 
 [Nonconformists] . 
 
 But if so be, it be allowable (where we have so undoubtedly 
 learned and honourable a Clergy) to suppose that some of 
 that sacred profession might possibly have attained to a 
 greater degree of esteem and usefulness to the World : then 
 I hope what has thus long hindered so great and desirable a 
 blessing to the nation, may be modestly guessed at ! either 
 without giving any wilful offence to the present Church ; or 
 any great trouble, dear Sir, to yourself. And, if I be not 
 very much mistaken, whatever has heretofore, or does at 
 present, lessen the value of our Clergy, or render it in any 
 degree less serviceable to the World than might be reasonably 
 hoped ; may be easily referred to two very plain things the 
 IGNORANCE of some, and the POVERTY of others of the 
 Clergy. 
 
 |ND first, as to the IGNORANCE of some of our Clergy 
 
 If we would make a search to purpose, we must 
 go as deep as the very Beginnings of Education ; and, 
 doubtless, may lay a great part of our misfortunes 
 to the old-fashioned methods and discipline of Schooling 
 itself: upon the well ordering of which, although much of 
 the improvement of our Clergy cannot be denied mainly 
 to depend: yet by reason this is so well known to yourself, 
 as also that there have been many of undoubted learning and 
 experience, that have set out their several models for this 
 purpose ; I shall therefore only mention such Loss of Time 
 and Abuse of Youth as is most remarkable and mischievous, 
 and as could not be conveniently omitted in a Discourse of 
 this nature, though ever so short. 
 
 And first of all, it were certainly worth the considering. 
 Whether it be unavoidably necessary to keep lads to 16 or 17 
 years of age, in pure slavery to a few Latin or Greek words 1 
 or Whether it may not be more convenient, especially if we 
 call to mind their natural inclinations to ease and idleness, 
 and how hardly they are persuaded of the excellency of the 
 liberal Arts and Sciences (any further than the smart of the
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE WANTED IN SCHOOLS. 247 
 
 last piece of discipline is fresh in their memories), Whether, 
 I say, it be not more proper and beneficial to mix with those 
 unpleasant tasks and drudgeries, something that, in pro- 
 bability, might not only take much better with them, but 
 might also be much easier obtained ? 
 
 As, suppose some part of time was allotted them, for the 
 reading of some innocent English Authors ! where they need 
 not go, every line, so unwillingly to a tormenting Dictionary, 
 and whereby they might come in a short time, to apprehend 
 common sense, and to begin to judge what is true. For you 
 shall have lads that are arch knaves at the Nominative Case, 
 and that have a notable quick eye at spying out of the Verb ; 
 who, for want of reading such common and familiar books, 
 shall understand no more of what is very plain and easy, than 
 a well educated dog or horse. 
 
 Or suppose they were taught, as they might much easier 
 be than what is commonly offered to them, the principles of 
 Arithmetic, Geometry, and such alluring parts of Learning. 
 As these things undoubtedly would be much more useful, so 
 much more delightful to them, than to be tormented with a 
 tedious story how PHOTON broke his neck, or how many 
 nuts and apples TITYRUS had for his supper. 
 
 For, most certainly, youths, if handsomely dealt with, are 
 much inclinable to emulation, and to a very useful esteem of 
 glory ; and more especially, if it be the reward of knowledge : 
 and therefore, if such things were carefully and discreetly 
 propounded to them, wherein they might not only earnestly 
 contend amongst themselves, but might also see how far 
 they outskill the rest of the World, a lad hereby would think 
 himself high and mighty; and would certainly take great 
 delight in contemning the next unlearned mortal he meets 
 withal. 
 
 But if, instead hereof, you diet him with nothing but with 
 Rules and Exceptions, with tiresome repetitions of A mo and 
 TVTTTW, setting a day also apart also to recite verbatim all the 
 burdensome task of the foregoing week (which I am confident 
 is usually as dreadful as an old Parliament Fast) we must 
 needs believe that such a one, thus managed, will scarce 
 think to prove immortal, by such performances and accom- 
 plishments as these. 
 
 You know very well, Sir, that lads in general have but a
 
 248 LADS TO BE WON TO THE LOVE OF LEARNING. 
 
 kind of ugly and odd conception of Learning ; and look upon 
 it as such a starving thing, and unnecessary perfection, 
 especially as it is usually dispensed out unto them, that 
 Nine-pins or Span-counter are judged much more heavenly 
 employments ! And therefore what pleasure, do we think, can 
 such a one take in being bound to get against breakfast, two 
 or three hundred Rumblers out of HOMER, in commendation 
 of ACHILLES'S toes, or the Grecians' boots ; or to have 
 measured out to him, very early in the morning, fifteen or 
 twenty well laid on lashes, for letting a syllable slip too soon, 
 or hanging too long on it ? Doubtless instant execution upon 
 such grand miscarriages as these, will eternally engage him 
 to a most admirable opinion of the Muses ! 
 
 Lads, certainly, ought to be won by all possible arts and 
 devices : and though many have invented fine pictures and 
 games, to cheat them into the undertaking of unreasonable 
 burdens ; yet this, by no means, is such a lasting temptation 
 as the propounding of that which in itself is pleasant and 
 alluring. For we shall find very many, though of no excelling 
 quickness, will soon perceive the design of the landscape ; 
 and so, looking through the veil, will then begin to take as 
 little delight in those pretty contrivances, as in getting by 
 heart three or four leaves of ungayed nonsense. 
 
 Neither seems the stratagem of Money to be so prevailing 
 and catching, as a right down offer of such books which are 
 ingenious and convenient : there being but very few so in- 
 tolerably careful of their bellies, as to look upon the hopes of 
 a cake or a few apples, to be a sufficient recompense, for 
 cracking their pates with a heap of independent words. 
 
 I am not sensible that I have said anything in disparage- 
 ment of those two famous tongues, the Greek and Latin ; 
 there being much reason to value them beyond others, be- 
 cause the best of Human Learning has been delivered unto us 
 in those languages. But he that worships them, purely out 
 of honour to Rome and Athens, having little or no respect to 
 the usefulness and excellency of the books themselves, as 
 many do : it is a sign he has a great esteem and reverence of 
 antiquity ; but I think him, by no means comparable, for 
 happiness, to him who catches frogs or hunts butterflies. 
 
 That some languages therefore ought to be studied is in a 
 manner absolutely necessary: unless all were brought to one;
 
 MECHANICAL WAY OF TEACHING LATIN. 249 
 
 which would be the happiest thing that the World could wish 
 for I 
 
 But whether the beginning of them might not be more 
 insensibly instilled, and more advantageously obtained by 
 reading philosophical as well as other ingenious Authors, than 
 Janua linguarum, crabbed poems, and cross-grained prose, as 
 it has been heretofore by others : so it ought to be afresh 
 considered by all well-wishers, either to the Clergy or Learning. 
 
 I know where it is the fashion of some schools, to prescribe 
 to a lad, for his evening refreshment, out of COMMENIUS, all 
 the Terms of Art [technical terms] belonging to Anatomy, 
 Mathematics, or some such piece of Learning. Now, is it 
 not a very likely thing, that a lad should take most absolute 
 delight in conquering such a pleasant task ; where, perhaps, 
 he has two or three hundred words to keep in mind, with a 
 very small proportion of sense thereunto belonging : whereas 
 the use and full meaning of all those difficult terms would 
 have been most insensibly obtained, by leisurely reading 
 in particular, this or the other science ? 
 
 Is it not also likely to be very savoury, and of comfortable 
 use to one that can scarce distinguish between Virtue and 
 Vice, to be tasked with high and moral poems ? It is usually 
 said by those that are intimately acquainted with him, that 
 HOMER'S Iliad and Odyssey contain, mystically, all the Moral 
 Law for certain, if not a great part of the Gospel (I suppose 
 much after that rate that RABELAIS said his Gargantua con- 
 tained all the Ten Commandments !) ; but perceivable only to 
 those that have a poetical discerning spirit : with which gift, 
 I suppose, few at school are so early qualified. 
 
 Those admirable verses^ Sir, of yours, both English and 
 others, which you have sometimes favoured me with a sight 
 of, will not suffer me to be so sottish as to slight and under- 
 value so great and noble an accomplishment. But the 
 committing of such high and brave sensed poems to a school- 
 boy (whose main business is to search out cunningly the 
 Antecedent and the Relative ; to lie at catch for a spruce 
 Phrase, a Proverb, or a quaint and pithy Sentence) is not 
 only to very little purpose, but that having garg-led only those 
 elegant books at school, this serves them instead of reading 
 them afterwards ; and does, in a manner, prevent their being 
 further looked into. So that all improvement, whatsoever it
 
 25OUNWISE CHOICE OF LADS TO THE UNIVERSITIES. 
 
 be, that may be reaped out of the best and choicest poets, is 
 for the most part utterly lost, in that a time is usually chosen 
 of reading them, when discretion is much wanting to gain 
 thence any true advantage. Thus that admirable and highly 
 useful morality, TULLY'S Offices, because it is a book com- 
 monly construed at school, is generally afterwards so con- 
 temned by Academics, that it is a long hour's work to convince 
 them that it is worthy of being looked into again; because they 
 reckon it as a book read over at school, and, no question ! 
 notably digested. 
 
 If, therefore the ill methods of schooling do not only 
 occasion a great loss of time there, but also do beget in lads 
 a very odd opinion and apprehension of Learning, and much 
 disposes them to be idle when they are got a little free from 
 the usual severities; and that the hopes of more or less im- 
 provement in the Universities very much depend hereupon : 
 it is, without all doubt, the great concernment of all that wish 
 to the Church, that such care and regard be had to the 
 management of schools, that the Clergy be not so much 
 obstructed in their first attempts and preparations to Learning. 
 
 I cannot, Sir, possibly be so ignorant as not to consider 
 that what has been now offered upon this argument, has not 
 only been largely insisted on by others ; but also refers not 
 particularly to the Clergy (whose welfare and esteem, I 
 seem at present in a special manner solicitous about), but 
 in general to all learned professions, and therefore might 
 reasonably have been omitted : which certainly I had done, 
 had not I called to mind that of those many that propound 
 to themselves Learning for a profession, there is scarce one 
 in ten but that his lot, choice, or necessity determines him 
 to the study of Divinity. 
 
 Thus, Sir, I have given you my thoughts concerning the 
 orders and customs of common schools. A consideration, in 
 my apprehension, not slightly to be weighed : being that 
 upon which to me seems very much to depend the learning 
 and wisdom of the Clergy, and the prosperity of the Church. 
 
 The next unhappiness that seems to have hindered some 
 of our Clergy from arriving to that degree of understanding 
 that becomes such a holy office, whereby their company and
 
 fcf5gi]THE AMBITION OF PARISH SCHOOLMASTERS. 25! 
 
 discourses might be much more, than they commonly are, 
 valued and desired, is the inconsiderate sending of all kinds 
 of lads to the Universities; let their parts be ever so low 
 and pitiful, the instructions they have lain under ever so 
 mean and contemptible, and the purses of their friends ever 
 so short to maintain them there. If they have but the 
 commendation of some lamentable and pitiful Construing 
 Master, it passes for sufficient evidence that they will prove 
 persons very eminent in the Church. That is to say, if a 
 lad has but a lusty and well bearing memory, this being the 
 usual and almost only thing whereby they judge of their 
 abilities; if he can sing over very tunably three or four 
 stanzas of LILLY'S Poetry ; be very quick and ready to tell 
 what is Latin for all the instruments belonging to his father's 
 shop; if presently [at sight], upon the first scanning, he 
 knows a Spondee from a Dactyl, and can fit a few of those 
 same, without any sense, to his fingers' ends ; if, lastly, he can 
 say perfectly by heart his Academic Catechism, in pure and 
 passing Latin, i.e., " What is his Name ?" " Where went he 
 to School ?" and " What author is he best and chiefly skilled 
 in?" " A forward boy !" cries the Schoolmaster: "a very 
 pregnant child ! Ten thousand pities, but he should be a 
 Scholar ; he proves a brave Clergyman, I'll warrant you !" 
 
 Away to the University he must needs go ! Then for a 
 little Logic, a little Ethics, and, GOD knows ! a very little of 
 everything else ! And the next time you meet him, he is in 
 the pulpit ! 
 
 Neither ought the mischief which arises from small country 
 schools to pass unconsidered. The little mighty Governors 
 whereof, having, for the most part, not sucked in above 
 six or seven mouthsful of University air, must yet, by all 
 means, suppose themselves so notably furnished with all 
 sorts of instructions, and are so ambitious of the glory of 
 being counted able to send forth, now and then, to Oxford or 
 Cambridge, from the little house by the Churchyard's side, 
 one of their ill-educated disciples, that to such as these oft- 
 times is committed the guidance and instruction of a whole 
 parish : whose parts and improvements duly considered, 
 will scarce render them fit Governors of a small Grammar 
 Castle. 
 
 Not that it is necessary tc believe, that there never was
 
 252 DISMAL THINGS ARE SENT UP TO COLLEGE. [j 
 
 A 
 
 a learned or useful person in the Church, but such whose 
 education had been at Westminster or St. Paul's. But, 
 whereas most of the small schools, being by their first 
 founders designed only for the advantage of poor parish 
 children, and also that the stipend is usually so small and 
 discouraging that very few who can do much more than teach 
 to write and read, will accept of such preferment : for these 
 to pretend to rig out their small ones for a University life, 
 proves ofttimes a very great inconvenience and damage to 
 the Church. 
 
 And as many such Dismal Things are sent forth thus, 
 with very small tackling; so not a few are predestinated 
 thither by their friends, from the foresight of a good benefice. 
 If there be rich pasture, profitable customs, and that HENRY 
 VIII. has taken out no toll, the Holy Land is a very good 
 land, and affords abundance of milk and honey ! Far be it 
 from their consciences, the considering whether the lad is 
 likely to be serviceable to the Church, or to make wiser and 
 better any of his parishioners ! 
 
 All this may seem, at first sight, to be easily avoided by a 
 strict examination at the Universities ; and so returning by 
 the next carrier, all that was sent up not fit for their purpose. 
 But because many of their relations are ofttimes persons of 
 an inferior condition ; and who (either by imprudent coun- 
 sellors, or else out of a tickling conceit of their sons being, 
 forsooth, a University Scholar) have purposely omitted all 
 other opportunities of a livelihood; to return such, would 
 seem a very sharp and severe disappointment. 
 
 Possibly, it might be much better, if parents themselves or 
 their friends, would be much more wary of determining their 
 children to the trade of Learning. And if some of undoubted 
 knowledge and judgement, would offer their advice; and speak 
 their hopes of a lad, about 13 or 14 years of age (which, I will 
 assure you, Sir, may be done without conjuring !) ; and never 
 omit to inquire, Whether his relations are able and willing 
 to maintain him seven years at the University, or see some 
 certain way of being continued there so long, by the help of 
 friends or others, as also upon no such conditions as shall, 
 in likelihood, deprive him of the greatest parts of his studies ? 
 
 For it is a common fashion of a great many to compliment 
 and invite inferior people's children to the University, and
 
 USUALLY SEVEN YEARS AT THE UNIVERSITIES. 253 
 
 there pretend to make such an all bountiful provision for 
 them, as they shall not fail of coming to a very eminent 
 degree of Learning; but when they come there, they shall save 
 a servant's wages. They took therefore, heretofore, a very good 
 method to prevent Sizars overheating their brains. Bed- 
 making, chamber-sweeping, and water-fetching were doubt- 
 less great preservatives against too much vain philosophy. 
 Now certainly such pretended favours and kindnesses as 
 these, are the most right down discourtesies in the World. 
 For it is ten times more happy, both for the lad and the 
 Church, to be a corn-cutter or tooth-drawer, to make or mend 
 shoes, or to be of any inferior profession ; than to be invited 
 to, and promised the conveniences of, a learned education; and 
 to have his name only stand airing upon the College Tables 
 [Notice'boards], and his chief business shall be, to buy egg* 
 and butter. 
 
 Neither ought lads' parts, before they be determined to the 
 University, be only considered, and the likelihood of being 
 disappointed in their studies ; but also abilities or hopes of 
 being maintained until they be Masters of Arts. For whereas 
 200, for the most part, yearly Commence [Matriculate], scarce 
 the fifth part of these continue after their taking the First 
 Degree [B.A.]. As for the rest, having exactly learned, Quid 
 cst Logica ? and Quot sunt Virtutes Morales ? down they go, 
 by the first carrier, on the top of the pack, into the West, or 
 North, or elsewhere, according as their estates lie; with 
 BURGESDICIUS, EUSTACHIUS, and such great helps of Divinity; 
 and then, for propagation of the Gospel ! By that time they 
 can say the Predicaments and Creed ; they have their choice 
 of preaching or starving ! Now what a Champion of Truth 
 is such a thing likely to be ! What a huge blaze he makes 
 in the Church ! What a Raiser of Doctrines ! What a 
 Confounder of Heresies ! What an able Interpreter of hard 
 Places ! What a Resolver of Cases of Conscience ! and what 
 a prudent guide must he needs be to all his parish ! 
 
 You may possibly think, Sir, that this so early preaching 
 might be easily avoided, by withholding Holy Orders ; the 
 Church having very prudently constituted in her Canons, that 
 none under twenty-three years of age, which is the usual age 
 after seven years being at the University, should be admitted 
 to that great employment.
 
 254 GRADUATES COMING TO A HOLY RIPENESS. 
 
 This indeed might seem to do some service, were it care- 
 fully observed ; and were there not a thing to be got, called a 
 Dispensation, which will presently [at once] make you as old 
 as you please. 
 
 But if you will, Sir, we will suppose that Orders were 
 strictly denied to all, unless qualified according to Canon. 1 
 cannot foresee any other remedy but that most of those 
 University youngsters must fall to the parish, and become a 
 town charge until they be of spiritual age. For Philosophy 
 is a very idle thing, when one is cold ! and a small System of 
 Divinity, though it be WOLLEBIUS himself, is not sufficient 
 when one is hungry ! 
 
 What then shall we do with them ? and where shall we 
 dispose of them, until they come to a holy ripeness ? 
 
 May we venture them into the Desk to read Service? 
 That cannot be, because not capable ! Besides, the tempting 
 Pulpit usually stands too near. Or shall we trust them in 
 some good Gentleman's house, there to perform holy things? 
 With all my heart ! so that they may not be called down from 
 their studies to say Grace to every Health ; that they may have 
 a little better wages than the Cook or Butler ; as also that 
 there be a Groom in the house, besides the Chaplain (for 
 sometimes to the 10 a year, they crowd [in] the looking after 
 couple of geldings) : and that he may not be sent from table, 
 picking his teeth, and sighing with his hat under his arm ; 
 whilst the Knight and my Lady eat up the tarts and chickens ! 
 
 It may be also convenient, if he were suffered to speak now 
 and then in the Parlour, besides at Grace and Prayer time ; and 
 that my cousin ABIGAIL and he sit not too near one another 
 at meals, nor be presented together to the little vicarage ! 
 
 All this, Sir, must be thought on ! For, in good earnest, a 
 person at all thoughtful of himself and conscience, had much 
 better choose to live with nothing but beans and pease 
 pottage, so that he might have the command of his thoughts 
 and time ; than to have his Second and Third Courses, and 
 to obey the unreasonable humours of some families. 
 
 And as some think two or three years' continuance in the 
 University, to be time sufficient for being very great Instru- 
 ments in the Church : so others we have, so moderate as to 
 count that a solemn admission and a formal paying of College 
 Detriments, without the trouble of Philosophical discourses,
 
 f^KSji] A GOOD CONSTITUTION REQUISITE FOR STUDY. 255 
 
 disputations, and the like, are virtues that will influence as far 
 as Newcastle, and improve though at ever such a distance. 
 
 So strangely possessed are people in general, with the 
 easiness and small preparation that are requisite to the 
 undertaking of the Ministry, that whereas in other professions, 
 they plainly see, what considerable time is spent before they 
 have any hopes of arriving to skill enough to practise with 
 any confidence what they have designed ; yet to preach to 
 ordinary people, and govern a country parish, is usually 
 judged such an easy performance, that anybody counts him- 
 self fit for the employment. We find very few so unreasonably 
 confident of their parts, as to profess either Law or Physic, 
 without either a considerable continuance in some of the Inns 
 of Courts, or an industrious search in herbs, Anatomy, 
 Chemistry, and the like, unless it be only to make a bond 
 [bandage] or give a glyster [an injection]. But as for "the 
 knack of Preaching " as they call it, that is such a very easy 
 attainment, that he is counted dull to purpose, that is not 
 able, at a very small warning, to fasten upon any text of 
 Scripture, and to tear and tumble it, till the glass [the hour- 
 glass on the pulpit] be out. 
 
 Many, I know very well, are forced to discontinue [at 
 College], having neither stock [capital] of their own, nor 
 friends to maintain them in the University. But whereas a 
 man's profession and employment in this world is very much 
 in his own, or in the choice of such who are most nearly con- 
 cerned for him ; he therefore, that foresees that he is not likely 
 to have the advantage of a continued education, he had much 
 better commit himself to an approved-of cobbler or tinker, 
 wherein he may be duly respected according to his office and 
 condition of life ; than to be only a disesteemed pettifogger or 
 empiric in Divinity. 
 
 By this time, Sir, I hope you begin to consider what a great 
 disadvantage it has been to the Church and Religion, the 
 mere venturous and inconsiderate determining of Youths to 
 the profession of Learning. 
 
 There is still one thing, by very few, at all minded, that 
 ought also not to be overlooked : and that is, a good constitu- 
 tion and health of body. And therefore discreet and wise phy- 
 sicians ought also to be consulted, before an absolute resolve
 
 256 SICKLY ONES CHOSEN FOR CHOICE VESSELS. 
 
 be made to live the Life of the Learned. For he that has 
 strength enough to buy and bargain, may be of a very unfit 
 habit of body to sit still so much, as, in general, is requisite to 
 a competent degree of Learning. For although reading and 
 thinking break neither legs nor arms ; yet, certainly, there is 
 nothing that flags the spirits, disorders the blood, and enfeebles 
 the whole body of Man, as intense studies. 
 
 As for him that rives blocks or carries packs, there is no 
 great expense of parts, no anxiety of mind, no great intellec- 
 tual pensiveness. Let him but wipe his forehead, and he is 
 perfectly recovered ! But he that has many languages to re- 
 member, the nature of almost the whole world to consult, 
 many histories, Fathers, and Councils to search into ; if the 
 fabric of his body be not strong and healthful, you will soon 
 find him as thin as a piece of metaphysics, and look as piercing 
 as a School subtilty. 
 
 This, Sir, could not be conveniently omitted ; not only 
 because many are very careless in this point, and, at a venture, 
 determine their young relations to Learning : but because, 
 for the most part, if, amongst many, there be but one of all 
 the family that is weak and sickly, that is languishing and 
 consumptive ; this, of all the rest, as counted not fit for any 
 coarse employment, shall be picked out as a Choice Vessel 
 for the Church ! Whereas, most evidently, he is much more 
 able to dig daily in the mines, than to set cross-legged, 
 musing upon his book. 
 
 I am very sensible, how obvious it might be, here, to hint 
 that this so curious and severe Inquiry would much hinder 
 the practice, and abate the flourishing of the Universities : 
 as also, there have been several, and are still, many Living 
 Creatures in the world, who, whilst young, being of a very 
 slow and meek apprehension, have yet afterward cheered up 
 into a great briskness, and become masters of much reason. 
 And others there have been, who, although forced to a short 
 continuance in the University, and that ofttimes interrupted 
 by unavoidable services, have yet, by singular care and in- 
 dustry, proved very famous in their generation. And lastly, 
 some also, of very feeble and crazy constitutions in their 
 childhood, have out-studied their distempers, and have 
 become very healthful and serviceable in the Church. 
 
 As for the flourishing, Sir, of the Universities what has
 
 8 Au^l] CAPACITY, HEALTH, MAINTENANCE REQUIRED. 257 
 
 been before said, aims not in the least at Gentlemen, whose 
 coming thither is chiefly for the hopes of single [personal] im- 
 provement ; and whose estates do free them from the necessity 
 of making a gain of Arts and Sciences : but only at such as 
 intend to make Learning their profession, as well as [their] 
 accomplishment. So that our Schools may be still as full of 
 flourishings, of fine clothes, rich gowns, and future benefactors, 
 as ever. 
 
 And suppose we do imagine, as it is necessary we should, 
 that the number should be a little lessened ; this surely will 
 not abate the true splendour of a University in any man's 
 opinion, but his who reckons the flourishing thereof, rather 
 from the multitude of mere gowns than from the Ingenuity 
 and Learning of those that wear them : no more than we 
 have reason to count the flourishing of the Church from that 
 vast number of people that crowd into Holy Orders, rather 
 than from those learned and useful persons that defend her 
 Truths, and manifest her Ways. 
 
 But I say, I do not see any perfect necessity that our 
 Schools should hereupon be thinned and less frequented : 
 having said nothing against the Multitude, but the indiscreet 
 choice. If therefore, instead of such, either of inferior 
 parts or a feeble constitution, or of unable friends ; there 
 were picked out those that were of a tolerable ingenuity 
 [natural capacity], of a study-bearing body, and had good 
 hopes of being continued ; as hence there is nothing to 
 hinder our Universities from being full, so likewise from 
 being of great credit and learning. 
 
 Not to deny, then, but that, now and then, there has been 
 a lad of very submissive parts, and perhaps no great share 
 of time allowed him for his studies, who has proved, beyond 
 all expectation, brave and glorious : yet, surely, we are not 
 to over-reckon this so rare a hit, as to think that one such 
 proving lad should make recompense and satisfaction for 
 those many " weak ones," as the common people love to 
 phrase them, that are in the Church. And that no care 
 ought to be taken, no choice made, no maintenance provided 
 or considered ; because (now and then in an Age) one, 
 miraculously, beyond all hopes, proves learned and useful ; 
 is a practice, whereby never greater mischiefs and disesteem 
 have been brought upon the Clergy. 
 
 R 7
 
 258 UNIVERSITY WANTS. ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 I have, in short, Sir, run over what seemed to me. the 
 First Occasions of that Small Learning that is to be found 
 amongst some of the Clergy. I shall now pass from School- 
 ing to the Universities. 
 
 I am not so unmindful of that devotion which I owe to 
 those places, nor of that great esteem I profess to have of 
 the Guides and Governors thereof, as to go about to pre- 
 scribe new Forms and Schemes of Education ; where Wisdom 
 has laid her top-stone. Neither shall I here examine which 
 Philosophy, the Old or New, makes the best sermons. It is 
 hard to say, that exhortations can be to no purpose, if the 
 preacher believes that the earth turns round ! or that his 
 reproofs can take no effect, unless he will suppose a vacuum ! 
 There have been good sermons, no question ! made in the 
 days of Materia Prima and Occult Qualities : and there are, 
 doubtless, still good discourses now, under the reign of 
 Atoms. 
 
 There are but two things, wherein I count the Clergy 
 chiefly concerned, as to University Improvements, that, at 
 present, I shall make Inquiry into. 
 
 And the first is this : Whether or not it were not highly 
 useful, especially for the Clergy who are supposed to speak 
 English to the people, that English Exercises were imposed 
 upon lads, if not in Public Schools, yet at least privately. 
 Not but that I am abundantly satisfied that Latin (O 
 Latin ! it is the all in all ! and the very cream of the jest !) ; 
 as also, that Oratory is the same in all languages, the same 
 rules being observed, the same method, the same arguments 
 and arts of persuasion : but yet, it seems somewhat beyond 
 the reach of ordinary youth so to apprehend those general 
 Laws as to make a just and allowable use of them in all 
 languages, unless exercised particularly in them. 
 
 Now we know the language that the very learned part of 
 this nation must trust to live by, unless it be to make a bond 
 [bandage] or prescribe a purge (which possibly may not oblige 
 or work so well in any other language as Latin) is the 
 English : and after a lad has taken his leave of Madame 
 University, GOD bless him ! he is not likely to deal after- 
 wards with much Latin ; unless it be to checker [variegate]
 
 WRITING TOSSING NONSENSE IN LETTERS. 259 
 
 a sermon, or to say Salveto ! to some travelling Dominatio 
 vestra. Neither is it enough to say, that the English is the 
 language with which we are swaddled and rocked asleep ; and 
 therefore there needs none of this artificial and superadded 
 care. For there be those that speak very well, plainly, and 
 to the purpose ; and yet write most pernicious and fantastical 
 stuff: thinking that whatsoever is written must be more than 
 ordinary, must be beyond the guise [manner] of common 
 speech, must savour of reading and Learning, though it be 
 altogether needless, and perfectly ridiculous. 
 
 Neither ought we to suppose it sufficient that English books 
 be frequently read, because there be of all sorts, good and bad ; 
 and the worst are likely to be admired by Youth more than 
 the best : unless Exercises be required of lads ; whereby it 
 may be guessed what their judgement is, where they be 
 mistaken, and what authors they propound to themselves for 
 imitation. For by this means, they may be corrected and 
 advised early, according as occasion shall require : which, if 
 not done, their ill style will be so confirmed, their impro- 
 prieties of speech will become so natural, that it will be a 
 very hard matter to stir or alter their fashion of writing. 
 
 It is very curious to observe what delicate letters, your 
 young students write ! after they have got a little smack of 
 University learning. In what elaborate heights, and tossing 
 nonsense, will they greet a right down English father, or 
 country friend ! If there be a plain word in it, and such as 
 is used at home, this " tastes not," say they, " of education 
 among philosophers ! " and is counted damnable duncery and 
 want of fancy. Because " Your loving friend" or "humble 
 servant " is a common phrase in country letters ; therefore 
 the young Epistler is " Yours, to the Antipodes ! " or at least 
 "to the Centre of the earth ! " : and because ordinary folks 
 " love " and " respect " you ; therefore you are to him, " a 
 Pole Star ! " "a Jacob's Stan ! " "a Loadstone ! " and " a 
 damask Rose ! " 
 
 And the misery of it is, that this pernicious accustomed 
 way of expression does not only, ofttimes, go along with them 
 to their benefice, but accompanies them to the very grave. 
 
 And, for the most part, an ordinary cheesemonger or plum- 
 seller, that scarce [ly] ever heard of a University, shall write 
 much better sense, and more to the purpose than these young
 
 260 A LATIN ORATION AT THE UNIVERSITIES. [}&. 
 
 philosophers, who injudiciously hunting only for great words, 
 make themselves learnedly ridiculous. 
 
 Neither can it be easily apprehended, how the use of 
 English Exercises should any ways hinder the improvement 
 in the Latin tongue ; but rather be much to its advantage : 
 and this may be easily believed, considering what dainty 
 stuff is usually produced for a Latin entertainment ! Chicken 
 broth is not thinner than that which is commonly offered 
 for a Piece of most pleading and convincing Sense ! 
 
 For, I will but suppose an Academic youngster to be put 
 upon a Latin Oration. Away he goes presently to his maga- 
 zine of collected phrases ! He picks out all the Glitterings 
 he can find. He hauls in all Proverbs, " Flowers," Poetical 
 snaps [snatches], Tales out of the Dictionary, or else ready 
 Latined to his hand, out of LYCOSTHENES. 
 
 This done, he comes to the end of the table, and having 
 made a submissive leg [made a submissive bow] and a little 
 admired [gazed af\ the number, and understanding coun- 
 tenances of his auditors : let the subject be what it will, he 
 falls presently into a most lamentable complaint of his insuf- 
 ficiency and tenuity [slenderness] that he, poor thing ! " hath 
 no acquaintance with above a Muse and a half! " and " that 
 he never drank above six quarts of Helicon ! " and you " have 
 put him here upon such a task" (perhaps the business is 
 only, Which is the nobler creature, a Flea or a Louse ? ) 
 " that would much better fit some old soaker at Parnassus, 
 than his sipping unexperienced bibbership." Alas, poor 
 child ! he is " sorry, at the very soul ! that he has no better 
 speech ! and wonders in his heart, that you will lose so much 
 time as to hear him ! for he has neither squibs nor fireworks, 
 stars nor glories ! The cursed carrier lost his best Book of 
 Phrases ; and the malicious mice and rats eat up all his 
 Pearls and Golden Sentences." 
 
 Then he tickles over, a little, the skirts of the business. 
 By and by, for similitude from the Sun and Moon, or if they 
 be not at leisure, from " the grey-eyed Morn," or " a shady 
 grove," or " a purling stream." 
 
 This done, he tells you that " Barnaby Bright would be 
 much too short, for him to tell you all that he could say " : 
 and so, "fearing he should break the thread of your patience," 
 he concludes.
 
 '.] UNIVERSITY WANTS. PUTTING DOWN PUNNING. 261 
 
 Now it seems, Sir, very probable, that if lads did but first 
 of all, determine in English what they intended to say in 
 Latin ; they would, of themselves, soon discern the trifling- 
 ness of such Apologies, the pitifulness of their Matter, and 
 the impertinency of their Tales and Fancies : and would (accord- 
 ing to their subject, age, and parts) offer that which would 
 be much more manly, and towards tolerable sense. 
 
 And if I may tell you, Sir, what I really think, most of that 
 ridiculousness, of those phantastical phrases, harsh and 
 sometimes blasphemous metaphors, abundantly foppish 
 similitudes, childish and empty transitions, and the like, so 
 commonly uttered out of pulpits, and so fatally redounding 
 to the discredit of the Clergy, may, in a great measure, be 
 charged upon the want of that, which we have here so much 
 contended for. 
 
 The second Inquiry that may be made is this : Whether 
 or not Punning, Quibbling, and that which they call Joquing 
 [joking], and such delicacies of Wit, highly admired in some 
 Academic Exercises, might not be very conveniently omitted ? 
 
 For one may desire but to know this one thing : In what 
 Profession shall that sort of Wit prove of advantage ? As for 
 Law, where nothing but the most reaching subtility and the 
 closest arguing is allowed of; it is not to be imagined that 
 blending now and then a piece of a dry verse, and wreathing 
 here and there an odd Latin Saying into a dismal jingle, 
 should give Title to an estate, or clear out an obscure evidence ! 
 And as little serviceable can it be to Physic, which is made 
 up of severe Reason and well tried Experiments ! 
 
 And as for Divinity, in this place I shall say no more, but 
 that those usually that have been Rope Dancers in the 
 Schools, ofttimes prove Jack Puddings in the Pulpit. 
 
 For he that in his youth has allowed himself this liberty of 
 Academic Wit ; by this means he has usually so thinned his 
 judgement, becomes so prejudiced against sober sense, and 
 so altogether disposed to trifling and jingling ; that, so soon 
 as he gets hold of a text, he presently thinks he has catched 
 one of his old School Questions ; and so falls a flinging it 
 out of one hand into another ! tossing it this way, and that ! 
 lets it run a little upon the line, then " tanutus ! high jingo ! 
 come again !" here catching at a word ! there lie nibbling and 
 sucking at an and, a by, a quis or a quid, a sic or a sicut ! and
 
 262 HOW TO MAKE A MAN PESTILENTLY WITTY. B'Aug^eJ 
 
 thus minces the Text so small that his parishioners, until he 
 rendezvous [reassemble] it again, can scarce tell, what is become 
 of it. 
 
 But " Shall we debar Youth of such an innocent and 
 harmless recreation, of such a great quickener of Parts and 
 promoter of sagacity ?" 
 
 As for the first, its innocency of being allowed of for a 
 time ; I am so far from that persuasion that, from what has 
 been before hinted, I count it perfectly contagious ! and as 
 a thing that, for the most part, infects the whole life, and 
 influences most actions ! For he that finds himself to have 
 the right knack of letting off a joque, and of pleasing the 
 Humsters ; he is not only very hardly brought off from 
 admiring those goodly applauses, and heavenly shouts ; but 
 it is ten to one ! if he directs not the whole bent of his studies 
 to such idle and contemptible books as shall only furnish 
 him with materials for a laugh ; and so neglects all that 
 should inform his Judgement and Reason, and make him a 
 man of sense and reputation in this world. 
 
 And as for the pretence of making people sagacious, and 
 pestilently witty ; I shall only desire that the nature of that 
 kind of Wit may be considered ! which will be found to 
 depend upon some such fooleries as these 
 
 As, first of all, the lucky ambiguity of some word or 
 sentence. O, what a happiness is it ! and how much does 
 a youngster count himself beholden to the stars ! that 
 should help him to such a taking jest ! And whereas 
 there be so many thousand words in the World, and that 
 he should luck upon the right one ! that was so very 
 much to his purpose, and that at the explosion, made 
 such a goodly report ! 
 
 Or else they rake LILLY'S Grammar ; and if they can 
 but find two or three letters of any name in any of the 
 Rules or Examples of that good man's Works ; it is as 
 very a piece of Wit as any has passed in the Town since 
 the King came in [1660] ! 
 
 O, how the Freshmen will skip, to hear one of those 
 lines well laughed at, that they have been so often yerked 
 [chided] for ! 
 
 It is true, such things as these go for Wit so long as they 
 continue in Latin ; but what dismally shrimped things would
 
 3 ENGLISH SOCIETY is NOW FOR ONE LANGUAGE. 263 
 
 they appear, if turned into English ! And if we search into 
 what was, or might be pretended ; we shall find the advan- 
 tages of Latin-Wit to be very small and slender, when it 
 comes into the World. I mean not only among strict Philo- 
 sophers and Men of mere Notions, or amongst all-damning 
 and illiterate HECTORS ; but amongst those that are truly 
 ingenious and judicious Masters of Fancy. We shall find that 
 a quotation out of Qui mihi, an Axiom out of Logic, a Saying 
 of a Philosopher, or the like, though managed with some 
 quickness and applied with some seeming ingenuity, will 
 not, in our days, pass, or be accepted, for Wit. 
 
 For we must know that, as we are now in an Age of great 
 Philosophers and Men of Reason, so of great quickness and 
 fancy ! and that Greek and Latin, which heretofore (though 
 never so impertinently fetched in) was counted admirable, 
 because it had a learned twang ; yet, now, such stuff, being 
 out of fashion, is esteemed but very bad company ! 
 
 For the World is now, especially in discourse, for One 
 Language ! and he that has somewhat in his mind of Greek and 
 Latin, is requested, now-a-days, " to be civil, and translate it 
 into English, for the benefit of the company ! " And he that 
 has made it his whole business to accomplish himself for the 
 applause of boys, schoolmasters, and the easiest of Country 
 Divines ; and has been shouldered out of the Cockpit for his 
 Wit : when he comes into the World, is the most likely person 
 to be kicked out of the company, for his pedantry and over- 
 weening opinion of himself. 
 
 And, were it necessary, it is an easy matter to appeal to 
 Wits, both ancient and modern, that (beyond all controversy) 
 have been sufficiently approved of, that never, I am confident ! 
 received their improvements by employing their time in Puns 
 and Quibbles. There is the prodigious LUCIAN, the great Don 
 [QUIXOTE] of Mancha; and there are many now living, Wits 
 of our own, who never, certainly, were at all inspired from 
 a Tripus's, Terrcz-filius's, or Pr&varecator's speech. 
 
 I have ventured, Sir, thus far, not to find fault with ; but 
 only to inquire into an ancient custom or two of the Univer- 
 sities ; wherein the Clergy seem to be a little concerned, as to 
 their education there. 
 
 I shall now look on them as beneficed, and consider their
 
 264 SWAGGERING WITH TALL WORDS & N<ynoNS.[JJj*gJ; 
 
 preaching. Wherein I pretend to give no rules, having 
 neither any gift at it, nor authority to do it : but only shall 
 make some conjectures at those useless and ridiculous things 
 commonly uttered in pulpits, that are generally disgusted 
 [disliked], and are very apt to bring contempt upon the 
 preacher, and that religion which he professes. 
 
 Amongst the first things that seem to be useless, may be 
 reckoned the high tossing and swaggering preaching, either 
 mountingly eloquent, or profoundly learned. For there be a 
 sort of Divines, who, if they but happen of an unlucky hard 
 word all the week, they think themselves not careful of their 
 flock, if they lay it not up till Sunday, and bestow it amongst 
 them, in their next preachment. Or if they light upon some 
 difficult and obscure notion, which their curiosity inclines 
 them to be better acquainted with, how useless soever 1 
 nothing so frequent as for them, for a month or two months 
 together, to tear and tumble this doctrine ! and the poor 
 people, once a week, shall come and gaze upon them by the 
 hour, until they preach themselves, as they think, into a 
 right understanding. 
 
 Those that are inclinable to make these useless speeches 
 to the people ; they do it, for the most part, upon one of 
 these two considerations. Either out of simple phantastic 
 glory, and a great studiousness of being wondered at : as if 
 getting into the pulpit were a kind of Staging [acting] ; where 
 nothing was to be considered but how much the sermon 
 takes ! and how much stared at ! Or else, they do this to 
 gain a respect and reverence from their people: "who," say 
 they, " are to be puzzled now and then, and carried into the 
 clouds ! For if the Minister's words be such as the Con- 
 stable uses ; his matter plain and practical, such as comes 
 to the common market : he may pass possibly for an honest 
 and well-meaning man, but by no means for any scholar! 
 Whereas if he springs forth, now and then, in high raptures 
 towards the uppermost heavens ; dashing, here and there, an 
 all-confounding word ! if he soars aloft in unintelligible huffs ! 
 preaches points deep and mystical, and delivers them as 
 darkly and phantastically ! this is the way," say they, " of 
 being accounted a most able and learned Instructor." 
 
 Others there be, whose parts stand not so much towards 
 Tall Words and Lofty Notions, but consist in scattering up
 
 s'Aug?^:] SWAGGERING WITH LATIN, GREEK, & HEBREW. 265 
 
 and down and besprinkling all their sermons with plenty of 
 Greek and Latin. And because St. PAUL, once or so, was 
 pleased to make use of a little heathen Greek ; and that only, 
 when he had occasion to discourse with some of the learned 
 ones that well understood him : therefore must they needs 
 bring in twenty Poets and Philosophers, if they can catch 
 them, into an hour's talk [evidently the ordinary length of a 
 sermon at this time, see pp. 259, 313] ; spreading themselves 
 in abundance of Greek and Latin, to a company, perhaps, 
 of farmers and shepherds. 
 
 Neither will they rest there, but have at the Hebrew also ! 
 not contenting themselves to tell the people in general, that 
 they " have skill in the Text, and the exposition they offer, 
 agrees with the Original " ; but must swagger also over the 
 poor parishioners, with the dreadful Hebrew itself ! with 
 their BEN-!SRAELS ! BEN-MANASSES ! and many more BENS 
 that they are intimately acquainted with ! whereas there is 
 nothing in the church, or near it by a mile, that understands 
 them, but GOD Almighty! whom, it is supposed, they go not 
 about to inform or satisfy. 
 
 This learned way of talking, though, for the most part, it 
 is done merely out of ostentation : yet, sometimes (which 
 makes not the case much better), it is done in compliment 
 and civility to the all-wise Patron, or all-understanding 
 Justice of the Peace in the parish ; who, by the common 
 farmers of the town, must be thought to understand the 
 most intricate notions, and the most difficult languages. 
 
 Now, what an admirable thing this is ! Suppose there 
 should be one or so, in the whole church, that understands 
 somewhat besides English : shall I not think that he under- 
 stands that better ? Must I (out of courtship to his Worship 
 and Understanding ; and because, perhaps, I am to dine 
 with him) prate abundance of such stuff, which, I must 
 needs know, nobody understands, or that will be the better for 
 it but himself, and perhaps scarcely he ? 
 
 This, I say, because I certainly know several of that dis- 
 position : who, if they chance to have a man of any learning 
 or understanding more than the rest in the parish, preach 
 wholly at him ! and level most of their discourses at his 
 supposed capacity ; and the rest of the good people shall 
 have only a handsome gaze or view of the parson ! As if
 
 266 THE PARSON TO PREACH TO ALL THE PARISH. [J 
 
 plain words, useful and intelligible instructions were not as 
 good for an Esquire, or one that is in Commission from the 
 King, as for him that holds the plough or mends hedges. 
 
 Certainly he that considers the design of his Office, and 
 has a conscience answerable to that holy undertaking, must 
 needs conceive himself engaged, not only to mind this or that 
 accomplished or well-dressed person, but must have a uni- 
 versal care and regard of all his parish. And as he must 
 think himself bound, not only to visit down beds and silken 
 curtains, but also flocks and straw [mattresses], if there be 
 need : so ought his care to be as large to instruct the poor, 
 the weak, and despicable part of his parish, as those that sit 
 in the best pews. He that does otherwise, thinks not at all 
 of a man's soul : but only accommodates himself to fine 
 clothes, an abundance of ribbons, and the highest seat in the 
 church ; not thinking that it will be as much to his reward in 
 the next world, by sober advice, care, and instruction, to 
 have saved one that takes collection [alms] as him that is able 
 to relieve half the town. It is very plain that neither our 
 Saviour, when he was upon earth and taught the World, 
 made any such distinction in his discourses. What is more 
 intelligible to all mankind than his Sermon upon the Mount \ 
 Neither did the Apostles think of any such way. I wonder, 
 whom they take for a pattern ! 
 
 I will suppose once again, that the design of these persons 
 is to gain glory : and I shall ask them, Can there be any 
 greater in the world, than doing general good ? To omit future 
 reward, Was it not always esteemed of old, that correcting 
 evil practices, reducing people that lived amiss, was much 
 better than making a high rant about a shuttlecock, and 
 talking tara-tantara about a feather ? Or if they would be 
 only admired, then would I gladly have them consider, What 
 a thin and delicate kind of admiration is likely to be produced, 
 by that which is not at all understood ? Certainly, that man 
 has a design of building up to himself real fame in good 
 earnest, by things well laid and spoken : his way to effect it 
 is not by talking staringly, and casting a mist before the 
 people's eyes ; but by offering such things by which he may 
 be esteemed, with knowledge and understanding. 
 
 Thus far concerning Hard Words, High Notions, and Un- 
 profitable Quotations out of learned languages.
 
 S'AU^O.'] RASH USE OF FRIGHTFUL METAPHORS. 267 
 
 I shall now consider such things as are ridiculous, that serve 
 for chimney and market talk, after the sermon be done ; and 
 that do cause, more immediately, the preacher to be scorned 
 and undervalued. 
 
 I have no reason, Sir, to go about to determine what style 
 or method is best for the improvement and advantage of all 
 people. For, I question not but there have been as many 
 several sorts of Preachers as Orators ; and though very 
 different, yet useful and commendable in their kind. TULLY 
 takes very deservedly with many, SENECA with others, and 
 CATO, no question ! said things wisely and well. So, doubt- 
 less, the same place of Scripture may by several, be variously 
 considered: and although their method and style be altogether 
 different, yet they may all speak things very convenient for 
 the people to know and be advised of. But yet, certainly, 
 what is most undoubtedly useless and empty, or what is 
 judged absolutely ridiculous, not by this or that curious or 
 squeamish auditor, but by every man in the Corporation that 
 understands but plain English and common sense, ought to 
 be avoided. For all people are naturally born with such a 
 judgement of true and allowable Rhetoric, that is, of what is 
 decorous and convenient to be spoken, that whatever is 
 grossly otherwise is usually ungrateful, not only to the wise 
 and skilful part of the congregation, but shall seem also 
 ridiculous to the very unlearned tradesmen [mechanics] and 
 their young apprentices. Amongst which, may be chiefly 
 reckoned these following, harsh Metaphors, childish Similitudes, 
 and ill-applied Tales. 
 
 The first main thing, I say, that makes many sermons so 
 ridiculous, and the preachers of them so much disparaged 
 and undervalued, is an inconsiderate use of frightful Metaphors : 
 which making such a remarkable impression upon the ears, 
 and leaving such a jarring twang behind them, are oftentimes 
 remembered to the discredit of the Minister as long as he 
 continues in the parish. 
 
 I have heard the very children in the streets, and the little 
 boys close about the fire, refresh themselves strangely but 
 with the repetition of a few of such far-fetched and odd 
 sounding expressions. TULLY, therefore, and C^SAR, the
 
 268 NAUTICAL AND MILITARY METAPHORS. [{ 
 
 two greatest masters of Roman eloquence, were very wary 
 and sparing of that sort of Rhetoric. We may read many a 
 page in their works before we meet with any of those bears ; 
 and if you do light upon one or so, it shall not make your 
 hair stand right up ! or put you into a fit of convulsions ! but 
 it shall be so soft, significant, and familiar, as if it were made 
 for the very purpose. 
 
 But as for the common sort of people that are addicted to 
 this sort of expression in their discourses ; away presently to 
 both the Indies ! rake heaven and earth ! down to the bottom 
 of the sea ! then tumble over all Arts and Sciences ! ransack 
 all shops and warehouses ! spare neither camp nor city, but 
 that they will have them ! So fond are such deceived ones 
 of these same gay words, that they count all discourses 
 empty, dull, and cloudy ; unless bespangled with these 
 glitterings. Nay, so injudicious and impudent together will 
 they sometimes be, that the Almighty Himself is often in 
 danger of being dishonoured by these indiscreet and horrid 
 Metaphor-mongers. And when they thus blaspheme the 
 God of Heaven by such unhallowed expressions; to make 
 amends, they will put you in an " As it were " forsooth ! or 
 " As I may so say," that is, they will make bold to speak 
 what they please concerning GOD Himself, rather than omit 
 what they judge, though never so falsely, to be witty. And 
 then they come in hobbling with their lame submission, and 
 with their " reverence be it spoken " : as if it were not much 
 better to leave out what they foresee is likely to be inter- 
 preted for blasphemy, or at least great extravagancy ; than 
 to utter that, for which their own reason and conscience tell 
 them, they are bound to lay in beforehand an excuse. 
 
 To which may be further subjoined, that Metaphors, though 
 very apt and allowable, are intelligible but to some sorts of 
 men, of this or that kind of life, of this or that profession. 
 
 For example, perhaps one Gentleman's metaphorical knack 
 of preaching comes of the sea ; and then we shall hear of 
 nothing but " starboard " and " larboard," of " stems," 
 " sterns," and "forecastles," and such salt-water language: 
 so that one had need take a voyage to Smyrna or Aleppo, 
 and very warily attend to all the sailors' terms, before I shall 
 in the least understand my teacher. Now, though such a 
 sermon may possibly do some good in a coast town ; yet
 
 sAugf^i] SERMONS PACKED WITH SIMILITUDES. 269 
 
 upward into the country, in an inland parish, it will do no 
 more than Syriac or Arabic. 
 
 Another, he falls a fighting with his text, and makes a 
 pitched battle of it, dividing it into the Right Wing and 
 Left Wing ; then he rears it ! flanks it ! intrenches it ! storms it ! 
 and then he musters all again ! to see what word was lost or 
 lamed in the skirmish : and so falling on again, with fresh 
 valour, he fights backward and forward ! charges through 
 and through ! routs ! kills ! takes ! and then, " Gentlemen ! 
 as you were ! " Now to such of his parish as have been in 
 the late wars, this is not very formidable ; for they do but 
 suppose themselves at Edgehill or Naseby, and they are not 
 much scared at his doctrine : but as for others, who have not 
 had such fighting opportunities, it is very lamentable to con- 
 sider how shivering they sit without understanding, till the 
 battle be over ! 
 
 Like instance might be easily given of many more dis- 
 courses, the metaphorical phrasing whereof, depending upon 
 peculiar arts, customs, trades, and professions, makes them 
 useful and intelligible only to such, who have been very well 
 busied in such like employments. 
 
 Another thing, Sir, that brings great disrespect and mischief 
 upon the Clergy, and that differs not much from what went 
 immediately before, is their packing their sermons so full of 
 Similitudes ; which, all the World knows, carry with them but 
 very small force of argument, unless there be an exact agree- 
 ment with that which is compared, of which there is very seldom 
 any sufficient care taken. 
 
 Besides, those that are addicted to this slender way of 
 discourse, for the most part, do so weaken and enfeeble their 
 judgement, by contenting themselves to understand by 
 colours, features, and glimpses ; that they perfectly omit all 
 the more profitable searching into the nature and causes of 
 things themselves. By which means, it necessarily comes 
 to pass, that what they undertake to prove and clear out to 
 the Congregation, must needs be so faintly done, and with 
 such little force of argument, that the conviction or persuasion 
 will last no longer in the parishioners' minds, than the 
 warmth of those similitudes shall glow in their fancy. So 
 that he that has either been instructed in some part of his
 
 270 BEAUTY OF OUR SAVIOUR'S SIMILITUDES. [ 
 
 duty, or excited to the performance of the same, not by any 
 judicious dependence of things, and lasting reason ; but by 
 such faint and toyish evidence : his understanding, upon all 
 occasions, will be as apt to be misled as ever, and his 
 affections as troublesome and ungovernable. 
 
 But they are not so Unserviceable, as, usually, they are 
 Ridiculous. For people of the weakest parts are most com- 
 monly overborn with these fooleries; which, together with 
 the great difficulty of their being prudently managed, must 
 needs occasion them, for the most part, to be very trifling 
 and childish. 
 
 Especially, if we consider the choiceness of the authors 
 out of which they are furnished. There is the never-to-be- 
 commended-enough LYCOSTHENES. There is also the admi- 
 rable piece [by FRANCIS MERES] called the Second Part of 
 Wits Commonwealth [1598] : I pray mind it ! it is the Second 
 Part, and not the First \ And there is, besides, a book wholly 
 consisting of Similitudes [? JOHN SPENCER'S Things New 
 and Old, or a Storehouse of Similies, Sentences, Allegories, &c., 
 1658] applied and ready fitted to most preaching subjects, for 
 the help of young beginners, who sometimes will not make 
 them hit handsomely. 
 
 It is very well known that such as are possessed with an 
 admiration of such eloquence, think that they are very much 
 encouraged in their way by the Scripture itself. " For," say 
 they, " did not our blessed Saviour himself use many meta- 
 phors and many parables? and did not his disciples, following 
 his so excellent an example, do the like ? And is not this, 
 not only warrant enough, but near upon a command to us 
 so to do ? " 
 
 If you please, therefore, we will see what our Saviour does 
 in this case. In St. Matthew he tells his disciples, that " they 
 are the salt of the earth," that " they are the light of the 
 world," that " they are a city set on a hill." Furthermore, 
 he tells his Apostles, that " he sends them forth as sheep in 
 the midst of wolves ; " and bids them therefore " be as wise 
 as serpents, and harmless as doves." Now, are not all these 
 things plain and familiar, even almost to children themselves, 
 ^hat can but taste and see; and to men of the lowest education 
 and meanest capacities ! 
 
 I shall not here insist upon those special and admirable
 
 271 
 
 reasons for which our Saviour made use of so many parables. 
 Only thus much is needful to be said, namely, that they are 
 very much mistaken, that, from hence, think themselves 
 tolerated to turn all the world into frivolous and abominable 
 similitudes. 
 
 As for our Saviour, when he spoke a parable, he was 
 pleased to go no further than the fields, the seashore, a 
 garden, a vineyard, or the like ; which are things, without 
 the knowledge whereof, scarcely any man can be supposed 
 to live in this world. 
 
 But as for our Metaphorical- and Similitude-Men of the 
 Pulpit, these things to them, are too still and languid ! they 
 do not rattle and rumble ! These lie too near home, and 
 within vulgar ken ! There is little on this side the moon 
 that will content them ! Up, presently, to the Primum 
 Mobile, and the Trepidation of the Firmament ! Dive into 
 the bowels and hid treasures of the earth ! Despatch forth- 
 with, for Peru and Jamaica ! A town bred or country bred 
 similitude is worth nothing ! 
 
 " It is reported of a tree growing upon the bank of 
 Euphrates, the great river Euphrates! that it brings forth 
 an Apple, to the eye very fair and tempting ; but inwardly 
 it is filled with nothing but useless and deceiving dust. 
 Even so, dust we are; and to dust we must all go!" 
 Now, what a lucky discovery was this, that a man's Body 
 should be so exactly like an Apple ! And, I will assure you 
 that this was not thought on, till within these few years ! 
 
 And I am afraid, too, -he had a kind of a hint of this, 
 
 from another who had formerly found out that a man's 
 
 Soul was like an Oyster. For, says he in his prayer, 
 
 ''Our souls are constantly gaping after thee, O LORD ! 
 
 yea, verily, our souls do gape, even as an oyster gapeth ! " 
 
 It seems pretty hard, at first sight, to bring into a sermon 
 
 all the Circles of the Globe and all the frightful terms of 
 
 Astronomy ; but I will assure you, Sir, it is to be done ! 
 
 because it has been. But not by every bungler and ordinary 
 
 text-divider ; but by a man of great cunning and experience. 
 
 There is a place in the prophet Malachi, where it will 
 
 do very nicely, and that is chapter iv. ver. 2, "But unto 
 
 you, that fear my Name, shall the Sun of Righteousness 
 
 arise with healing in his wings." From which words, in
 
 272 OUR SAVIOUR PASSED THROUGH THE ZODIAC! [ 
 
 the first place, it plainly appears that our Saviour passed 
 through all the twelve signs of the Zodiac; and more than 
 that too, all proved by very apt and familiar places of 
 Scripture. 
 
 First, then, our Saviour was in Aries. Or else, what 
 means that of the Psalmist, "The mountains skipped like 
 rams, and the little hills like lambs ! " ? And again, that 
 in Second of the Kings, chap. iii. ver. 4, " And MESHA, 
 King of Moab, was a sheep master, and rendered unto the 
 King of Israel an hundred thousand lambs," and what 
 follows, "and an hundred thousand rams, with the wool!" 
 Mind it ! it was the King of Israel ! 
 
 In like manner, was he in Taurus. Psalm xxii. 12. 
 " Many bulls have compassed me ! Strong bulls of 
 Bashan have beset me round! " They were not ordinary 
 bulls. They were compassing bulls ! they were besetting 
 bulls ! they were strong Bashan bulls ! 
 
 What need I speak of Gemini ? Surely you cannot but 
 remember ESAU and JACOB ! Genesis xxv. 24. " And 
 when her days to be delivered were fulfilled, behold there 
 were Twins in her womb ! " 
 
 Or of Cancer ? when, as the Psalmist says so plainly, 
 " What ailed thee, thou sea, that thou fleddest ? thou 
 Jordan ! that thou wast driven back ? " Nothing more 
 plain ! 
 
 It were as easy to shew the like in all the rest of the 
 Signs. 
 
 But instead of that, I shall rather choose to make this 
 one practical Observation. That the mercy of GOD to 
 mankind in sending His Son into the world, was a very 
 signal mercy. It was a zodiacal mercy ! I say it was 
 truly zodiacal ; for CHRIST keeps within the Tropics ! He 
 goes not out of the Pale of the Church ; but yet he is 
 not always at the same distance from a believer. Some- 
 times he withdraws himself into the apogceum of doubt, 
 sorrow, and despair ; but then he comes again into the 
 perig(Eum of joy, content, and assurance ; but as for 
 heathens and unbelievers, they are all arctic and ant- 
 arctic reprobates ! " 
 
 Now when such stuff as this, as sometimes it is, is vented 
 in a poor parish, where people can scarce tell, what day of
 
 WONDERFUL THINGS DONE BY METAPHORS. 273 
 
 the month it is by the Almanack ? how seasonable and savoury 
 it is likely to be ! 
 
 It seems also not very easy for a man in his sermon to 
 learn [teach] his parishioners how to dissolve gold, of what, 
 and how the stuff is made. Now, to ring the bells and call 
 the people on purpose together, would be but a blunt 
 business ; but to do it neatly, and when nobody looked for it, 
 that is the rarity and art of it ! 
 
 Suppose, then, that he takes for his text that of St. Matthew, 
 " Repent ye, for the Kingdom of GOD is at hand." 
 Now, tell me, Sir, do you not perceive the gold to be in 
 a dismal fear! to curl and quiver at the first reading of 
 these words ! It must come in thus, " The blots and 
 blurs of our sins must be taken out by the aqua-fortis of 
 our tears ; to which aqua-fortis, if you put a fifth part of 
 sal-ammoniac, and set them in a gentle heat, it makes 
 aqua-regia which dissolves gold." 
 
 And now it is out ! Wonderful are the things that are to be 
 done by the help of metaphors and similitudes ! And I will 
 undertake that, with a little more pains and considerations, 
 out of the very same words, he could have taught the people 
 how to make custards, or marmalade, or to stew prunes ! 
 
 But, pray, why " the aqua-fortis of tears ? " For if it so 
 falls out that there should chance to be neither Apothecary, 
 nor Druggist at church, there is an excellent jest wholly 
 lost ! 
 
 Now had he been so considerate as to have laid his wit in 
 some more common and intelligible material ; for example, 
 had he said the " blots of sin " will be easily taken out " by 
 the soap of sorrow, and the fullers-earth of contrition," then 
 possibly the Parson and the parish might all have admired 
 one another. For there be many a good-wife that under- 
 stands very well all the intrigues of pepper, salt, and vinegar, 
 who knows not anything of the all-powerfulness of aqua- 
 fortis, how that it is such a spot-removing liquor ! 
 
 I cannot but consider with what understanding the people 
 sighed and cried, when the Minister made for them this 
 metaphysical confession : 
 
 Omnipotent All ! Thou art only ! Because Thou art 
 all, and because Thou only art ! As for us, we are not ; 
 but we seem to be ! and only seem to be, because we 
 
 S 7
 
 2 74 PARSON SLIP-STOCKING. SPIRITUAL HUCKSTERS. 
 
 are not ! for we be but Mites of Entity, and Crumbs of 
 Something ! " and so on. 
 
 As if a company of country people were bound to understand 
 SUAREZ, and all the School Divines ! 
 
 And as some are very high and learned in their attempts; 
 so others there be, who are of somewhat too mean and dirty 
 imagination. 
 
 Such was he, who goes by the name of Parson SLIP- 
 STOCKING. Who preaching about the grace and assistance 
 of GOD, and that of ourselves we are able to do nothing, 
 advised his " beloved" to take him this plain similitude. 
 
 " A father calls his child to him, saying, ' Child, pull 
 off this stocking ! ' The child, mightily joyful that it 
 should pull off father's stocking, takes hold of the stock- 
 ing, and tugs! and pulls! and sweats! but to no purpose: 
 for stocking stirs not, for it is but a child that pulls ! 
 Then the father bids the child to rest a little, and try 
 again. So then the child sets on again, tugs again; but 
 no stocking comes : for child is but a child ! Then the 
 father taking pity upon his child, puts his hand behind 
 and slips down the stocking; and off comes the stocking ! 
 Then how does the child rejoice ! for child hath pulled off 
 father's stocking. Alas, poor child ! it was not child's 
 strength, it was not child's sweating that got off the 
 stocking ; but yet it was the father's hand that slipped 
 
 down the stocking. Even so " 
 
 Not much unlike to this, was he that, preaching about the 
 Sacrament and Faith, makes CHRIST a shopkeeper ; telling 
 you that " CHRIST is a Treasury of all wares and com- 
 modities," and thereupon, opening his wide throat, cries aloud, 
 " Good people ! what do you lack ? What do you 
 buy? Will you buy any balm of Gilead ? any eye salve ? 
 any myrrh, aloes, or cassia ? Shall I fit you with a robe 
 of Righteousness, or with a white garment ? See here ! 
 What is it you want ? Here is a choice armoury! Shall I 
 shew you a helmet of Salvation, a shield, or breastplate of 
 Faith ? or will you please to walk in and see some precious 
 stones ? a jasper, a sapphire, a chalcedony ? Speak, 
 what do you buy?" 
 
 Now, for my part, I must needs say (and I much fancy I 
 speak the mind of thousands) that it had been much better
 
 FAITH, A FOOT! A HOSE ! A SHOE! 275 
 
 for such an imprudent and ridiculous bawler as this, to have 
 been condemned to have cried oysters or brooms, than to dis- 
 credit, after this unsanctified rate, his Profession and our 
 Religion. 
 
 It would be an endless thing, Sir, to count up to you all 
 the follies, for a hundred years last past, that have been 
 preached and printed of this kind. But yet I cannot omit 
 that of the famous Divine in his time, who, advising the 
 people in days of danger to run unto the LORD, tells 
 them that " they cannot go to the LORD, much less run, 
 without feet ; " that " there be therefore two feet' to run 
 to the LORD, Faith and Prayer." 
 
 "It is plain that Faith is a foot, for, 'by Faith we 
 stand,' 2 Cor. i. 24; therefore by Faith, we must run 
 to the LORD who is faithful. 
 
 " The second is Prayer, a spiritual Leg to bear us 
 thither. Now that Prayer is a spiritual Leg appears from 
 several places in Scripture, as from that of JONAH speak- 
 ing of coming, chap. ii. ver. 7, ' And my prayer came unto 
 thy holy temple.' And likewise from that of the Apostle 
 who says, Heb. iv. 16, 'Let us therefore go unto the 
 throne of grace.' Both intimating that Prayer is a 
 spiritual Leg : there being no coming or going to the 
 LORD without the Leg of Prayer." 
 
 He further adds, " Now that these feet may be able to 
 bear us thither, we must put on the Hose [stockings] of 
 Faith ; for the Apostle says, ' Our feet must be shod with 
 the preparation of the Gospel of Peace.' " 
 The truth of it is, the Author is somewhat obscure : for, 
 at first, Faith was a Foot, and by-and-by it is a Hose, 
 and at last it proves a Shoe ! If he had pleased, he could 
 have made it anything ! 
 
 Neither can I let pass that of a later Author ; who telling 
 us, " It is Goodness by which we must ascend to heaven," 
 and that " Goodness is the Milky Way to JUPITER'S Palace " ; 
 could not rest there, but must tell us further, that "to 
 strengthen us in our journey, we must not take morning 
 milk, but some morning meditations : " fearing, I suppose, 
 lest some people should mistake, and think to go to heaven 
 by eating now and then a mess of morning milk, because the 
 way was " milky."
 
 276 ASK, ARE THE SIMILITUDES TRUE ? 
 
 Neither ought that to be omitted, not long since printed 
 upon those words of St. JOHN, " These things write I unto 
 you, that ye sin not." 
 
 The Observation is that " it is the purpose of Scripture 
 to drive men from sin. These Scriptures contain Doc- 
 trines, Precepts, Promises, Threatenings, and Histories. 
 Now," says he, " take these five smooth stones, and put 
 them into the Scrip of the heart, and throw them with the 
 Sling of faith, by the Hand of a strong resolution, against 
 the Forehead of sin : and we shall see it, like GOLIATH, 
 fall before us." 
 
 But I shall not trouble you any further upon this subject : 
 but, if you have a mind to hear any more of this stuff, I shall 
 refer you to the learned and judicious Author of the Friendly 
 Debates [i.e., SIMON PATRICK, afterwards Bishop of ELY, who 
 wrote A Friendly Debate between a Conformist and a Noncon- 
 formist, in two parts, 1669] : who, particularly, has at large 
 discovered the intolerable fooleries of this way of talking. 
 
 I shall only add thus much, that such as go about to fetch 
 blood into their pale and lean discourses, by the help of their 
 brisk and sparkling similitudes, ought well to consider, 
 Whether their similitudes be true ? 
 
 I am confident, Sir, you have heard it, many and many a 
 time, or, if need be, I can shew you it in a book, that when 
 the preacher happens to talk how that the things here below 
 will not satisfy the mind of man ; then comes in, " the round 
 world which cannot fill the triangular heart of man ! " 
 whereas every butcher knows that the heart is no more tri- 
 angular than an ordinary pear, or a child's top. But because 
 triangular is a hard word, and perhaps a jest ! therefore 
 people have stolen it one from another, these two or three 
 hundred years ; and, for aught I know, much longer ! for I 
 cannot direct to the first inventor of the fancy. 
 
 In like manner, they are to consider, What things, either 
 in the heavens or belonging to the earth, have been found out, 
 by experience, to contradict what has been formerly allowed 
 of? 
 
 Thus, because some ancient astronomers had observed that 
 both the distances as well as the revolutions of the planets 
 were in some proportion or harmony one to another : there- 
 fore people that abounded with more imagination than skill,
 
 8Aug?i67o.'] RINGING CHIMES ON PARTICULAR WORDS. 277 
 
 presently fancied the Moon, Mercury, and Venus to be a kind 
 of violins or trebles to Jupiter or Saturn ; that the Sun and 
 Mars supplied the room of tenors, and the Primum Mobile 
 running Division all the tune. So that one could scarce heai 
 a sermon, but they must give you a touch of " the Harmony 
 of the Spheres." 
 
 Thus, Sir, you shall have them take that of St. PAUL, about 
 " faith, hope, and charity." And instead of a sober instruct- 
 ing of the people in those eminent and excellent graces, they 
 shall only ring you over a few changes upon the three words ; 
 crying, " Faith ! Hope ! and Charity ! " " Hope ! Faith ! and 
 Charity ! " and so on : and when they have done their peal, 
 they shall tell you that " this is much better than the 
 Harmony of the Spheres ! " 
 
 At other times, I have heard a long chiming only between 
 two words ; as suppose Divinity and Philosophy, or Revela- 
 tion and Reason. Setting forth with Revelation first. 
 " Revelation is a Lady; Reason, an Handmaid! Revelation 
 is the Esquire ; Reason, the Page ! Revelation is the Sun ; 
 Reason, but the Moon ! Revelation is Manna ; Reason is but 
 an acorn ! Revelation, a wedge of gold ; Reason, a small 
 piece of silver ! " 
 
 Then, by and by, Reason gets it, and leads it away, 
 " Reason indeed is very good, but Revelation is much better ! 
 Reason is a Councillor, but Revelation is the Lawgiver! 
 Reason is a candle, but Revelation is the snuffer ! " 
 
 Certainly, those people are possessed with a very great 
 degree of dulness, who living under the means of such en- 
 lightening preaching, should not be mightily settled in the 
 right notion and true bounds of Faith and Reason. 
 
 No less ably, methought, was the difference between the 
 Old Covenant and the New, lately determined. " The Old 
 Covenant was of Works ; the New Covenant, of Faith. The 
 Old Covenant was by MOSES ; The New, by CHRIST. The 
 Old was heretofore; the New, afterwards. The Old was 
 first ; the New was second. Old things are passed away : 
 behold, all things are become new." And so the business 
 was very fundamentally done. 
 
 I shall say no more upon this subject, but this one thing, 
 which relates to what was said a little before. He that has 
 got a set of similitudes calculated according to the old
 
 278 THE USUAL PREACHING THE PREFACE. [JA^Sl 
 
 philosophy, and PTOLEMY'S system of the world, must burn 
 his commonplace book, and go a-gleaning for new ones ; it 
 being, nowadays, much more gentle and warrantable to take 
 a similitude from the Man in the Moon than from solid orbs : 
 for though few people do absolutely believe that there is 
 any such Eminent Person there ; yet the thing is possible, 
 whereas the other is not. 
 
 I have now done, Sir, with that imprudent way of speaking 
 by Metaphor and Simile. There are many other things 
 commonly spoken out of the pulpit, that are much to the 
 disadvantage and discredit of the Clergy ; that ought also to 
 be briefly hinted. And that I may the better light upon 
 them, I shall observe their common method of Preaching. 
 
 [L] Before the text be divided, a Preface is to be made. 
 
 And it is a great chance if, first of all, the Minister does 
 not make his text to be like something or other. 
 
 For example. One, he tells you, " And now, methinks, 
 my Text, like an ingenious [clever] Picture, looks upon all 
 here present : in which, both nobles and people, may behold 
 their sin and danger represented." This was a text out of 
 Hosea. Now, had it been out of any other place of the Bible] 
 the gentleman was sufficiently resolved to make it like " an 
 ingenious Picture." 
 
 Another taking, perhaps, the very same words, says, " I 
 might compare my Text to the mountains of Bether, where 
 the LORD disports Himself like a young hart or a pleasant 
 roe among the spices." 
 
 Another man's Text is "like the rod of MOSES, to divide 
 the waves of sorrow " ; or " like the mantle of ELIJAH, to 
 restrain the swelling floods of grief." 
 
 Another gets to his Text thus, "As SOLOMON went up six 
 steps to come to the great Throne of Ivory, so must I ascend 
 six degrees to come to the high top-meaning of my Text." 
 
 Another thus, " As DEBORAH arose, and went with BARAK 
 to Kadesh ; so, if you will go with him, and call in the third 
 verse of the chapter, he will shew you the meaning of his 
 Text." 
 
 Another, he fancies his Text to be extraordinarily like to 
 41 an orchard of pomegranates ; " or like " St. MATTHEW
 
 sA^Si] USUAL PREACHING DIVIDING THE TEXT. 279 
 
 sitting at the receipt of custom ; " or like " the dove that 
 NOAH sent out of the Ark." 
 
 I believe there are above forty places of Scripture, that 
 have been " like RACHEL and LEAH " : and there is one in 
 Genesis, as I well remember, that is "like a pair of compasses 
 stradling." And, if I be not much mistaken, there is one, 
 somewhere else, that is " like a man going to Jericho." 
 
 Now, Sir, having thus made the way to the Text as smooth 
 and plain as anything, with a Preface, perhaps from ADAM, 
 though his business lie at the other end of the Bible : in the 
 next place ; [2] he comes to divide the Text. 
 
 Hie labor, hoc opus 
 
 Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum, 
 Silvestrem tenui. 
 
 Now, come off the gloves ! and the hands being well chafed 
 [rubbed together] ; he shrinks up his shoulders, and stretches 
 forth himself as if he were going to cleave a bullock's head, 
 or rive the body of an oak ! 
 
 But we must observe, that there is a great difference of 
 Texts. For all Texts come not asunder alike ! For somfe- 
 times the words naturally fall asunder! sometimes they drop 
 asunder ! sometimes they melt ! sometimes they untwist ! and 
 there be some words so willing to be parted that they divide 
 themselves ! to the great ease and rejoicing of the Minister. 
 
 But if they will not easily come to pieces, then he falls to 
 hacking and hewing ! as if he would make all fly into shivers ! 
 The truth of it is, I have known, now and then, some knotty 
 Texts, that have been divided seven or eight times over! 
 before they could make them split handsomely, according to 
 their mind. 
 
 But then comes the Joy of Joys ! when the Parts jingle ! 
 or begin with the same Letter ! and especially if in Latin. 
 
 O how it tickled the Divider ! when he got his Text into 
 those two excellent branches, Accusatio vera: Comminatio 
 severa : " A Charge full of Verity : A Discharge of Severity." 
 And, I will warrant you ! that did not please a little, viz., 
 " there are in the words, duplex miraculum; Miraculum in modo 
 and Miraculum in nodo." 
 
 But the luckiest I have met withal, both for Wit and
 
 280 TEXT LIKE A SPIRITUAL COMPASS. [}' 
 
 Keeping of the Letter, is upon these words of St. Matthew xii. 
 43, 44, 45 : " When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, 
 he walketh through dry places, seeking rest and finding none. 
 Then he saith I will return," &c. 
 
 In which words, all these strange things were found out. 
 First, there was a Captain and a Castle. (Do you see, Sir, the 
 same letter !) Then, there was an ingress, an egress ; and a 
 regress or reingress. Then, there was unroosting and unresting. 
 Then, there were number and name, manner and measure, 
 trouble and trial, resolution and revolution, assaults and as- 
 sassination, voidness and vacuity. This was done at the same 
 time, by the same man ! But, to confess the truth of it ! it 
 was a good long Text ; and so, he had the greater advantage. 
 
 But for a short Text, that, certainly, was the greatest 
 break that ever was ! which was occasioned from those words 
 of St. Luke xxiii. 28, " Weep not for me, weep for your- 
 selves ! " or as some read it, " but weep for yourselves ! " 
 
 It is a plain case, Sir ! Here are but eight words ; and the 
 business was cunningly ordered, that there sprang out eight 
 Parts. " Here are," says the Doctor, " eight Words, and 
 eight Parts 1 
 
 1. Weep not ! 
 
 2. But weep ! 
 
 3. Weep not, but weep 1 
 
 4. Weep for me ! 
 
 5. For yourselves ! 
 
 6. For me, for yourselves ! 
 
 7. Weep not for me ! 
 
 8. But weep for yourselves ! 
 
 That is to say, North, North-and-by-East, North-North- 
 East, North-East and by North, North-East, North-East 
 and by East, East-North-East, East and by North, East." 
 
 Now, it seems not very easy to determine, who has obliged 
 the world most ; he that found out the Compass, or he that 
 divided the fore-mentioned Text ? But I suppose the cracks 
 [claps] will go generally upon the Doctor's side ! by reason 
 what he did, was done by undoubted Art and absolute 
 industry : but as for the other, the common report is that it 
 was found out by mere foolish fortune. Well, let it go how 
 it will ! questionless, they will be both famous in their way, 
 and honourably mentioned to posterity.
 
 sUAL PREACHING OBSERVATIONS DEDUCED. 281 
 
 Neither ought he to be altogether slighted, who taking that 
 of Genesis xlviii. 2 for his text ; viz., " And one told JACOB, 
 and said, * Behold, thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee ! ' " pre- 
 sently perceived, and made it out to his people, that his Text 
 was " a spiritual Dial." 
 
 "For," says he, "here be in my Text, twelve words, 
 which do plainly represent the twelve hours. And one 
 told JACOB, and said, 'Thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee!' 
 And here is, besides, Behold, which is the Hand of the 
 Dial, that turns and points at every word of the Text. 
 And one told JACOB, and said, ' Behold, thy son JOSEPH 
 cometh unto thee /' For it is not said, Behold JACOB ! 
 or Behold JOSEPH ! but it is, And one told JACOB, and 
 said, Behold, thy son JOSEPH cometh unto thee. That it 
 is say, Behold And, Behold one, Behold told, Behold 
 JACOB. Again Behold and, Behold said, and also Behold 
 Behold, &c. Which is the reason that this word Behold 
 is placed in the middle of the other twelve words, 
 indifferently pointing to each word. 
 
 " Now, as it needs must be One of the Clock before 
 it can be Two or Three; so I shall handle this word 
 And, the first word of the Text, before I meddle with the 
 following. 
 
 " And one told JACOB. The word And is but a particle, 
 and a small one : but small things are not to be des- 
 pised. St. Matthew xviii. 10, Take heed that you despise 
 not one of these little ones. For this And is as the tacks 
 and loops amongst the curtains of the Tabernacle. The 
 tacks put into the loops did couple the curtains of the 
 Tent and sew the Tent together : so this particle And 
 being put into the loops of the words immediately before 
 the Text, does couple the Text to the foregoing verse, 
 and sews them close together." 
 
 I shall not trouble you, Sir, with the rest : being much 
 after this witty rate, and to as much purpose. 
 
 But we will go on, if you please, Sir ! to [3] the cunning 
 Observations, Doctrines, and Inferences that are commonly 
 made and raised from places of Scripture. 
 
 One takes that for his Text, Psalm Ixviii. 3, But let the
 
 282 QUOTATIONS FROM FLAMES & DISCOVERIES. 
 
 righteous be glad. From whence, he raises this doctrine, 
 that " there is a Spirit of Singularity in the Saints of GOD : 
 but let the righteous " a doctrine, I will warrant him ! of his 
 own raising; it being not very easy for anybody to prevent him! 
 Another, he takes that of Isaiah xli. 14, 15, Fear not, 
 thou worm JACOB ! &c. . . . thou shalt thresh the mountains. 
 Whence he observes that " the worm JACOB was a threshing 
 worm ! " 
 
 Another, that of Genesis xliv. i. And he commanded the 
 
 Steward of the house, saying, Fill the men's sacks with food, as 
 
 much as they can carry : and makes this note from the words. 
 
 That " great sacks and many sacks will hold more than 
 
 few sacks and little ones. For look," says he, " how 
 
 they came prepared with sacks and beasts, so they were 
 
 sent back with corn ! The greater, and the more sacks 
 
 they had prepared, the more corn they carry away ! if 
 
 they had prepared but small sacks, and a few ; they had 
 
 carried away the less ! " 
 
 Verily, and indeed extraordinarily true ! 
 
 Another, he falls upon that of Isaiah Iviii. 5, Is it such a 
 fast that I have chosen ? A day for a man to afflict his soul ? 
 Is it to bow down his head like a bulrush ? The Observation is 
 that " Repentance for an hour, or a day, is not worth a 
 bulrush ! " And, there, I think, he hit the business ! 
 
 But of these, Sir, I can shew you a whole book full, in a 
 treatise called Flames and Discoveries, consisting of very 
 notable and extraordinary things which the inquisitive Author 
 had privately observed and discovered, upon reading the 
 Evangelists ; as for example : 
 
 Upon reading that of St. John, chapter ii. verse 15, 
 And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove 
 them all out of the Temple ; this prying Divine makes 
 these discoveries. " I discover," says he, " in the first 
 place, that in the Church or Temple, a scourge may be 
 made, And when he had made a scourge. Secondly, that 
 it may be made use on, he drove them all out of the Temple." 
 And it was a great chance that he had not discovered a 
 third thing ; and that is, that the scourge was made, 
 before it was made use of.
 
 yof] SUCH DISCOVERIES BUT PITIFUL GUESSES. 283 
 
 Upon Matthew iv. 25, And there followed him great 
 multitudes of people from Galilee, " I discover," says he, 
 "when JESUS prevails with us, we shall soon leave our 
 Galilees ! I discover also," says he, " a great miracle, 
 viz.: that the way after JESUS being straight, that such 
 a multitude should follow him." 
 
 Matthew v. I. And seeing the multitude, he went up into a 
 mountain. Upon this, he discovers several very remark- 
 able things. First, he discovers that " CHRIST went 
 from the multitude.'" Secondly, that " it is safe to take 
 warning at our eyes, for seeing the multitude, he went up." 
 Thirdly, " it is not fit to be always upon the plains and 
 flats with the multitude : but, if we be risen with CHRIST, 
 to seek those things that are above. 
 
 He discovers also very strange things, from the latter 
 part of the fore-mentioned verse. And when he was set, 
 his disciples came unto him. i. CHRIST is not always 
 in motion, And when he was set. 2. He walks not on 
 the mountain, but sits, And when he was set. From 
 whence also, in the third place, he advises people, that 
 "when they are teaching they should not move too 
 much, for that is to be carried to and fro with every 
 wind of doctrine" Now, certainly, never was this place 
 of Scripture more seasonably brought in. 
 
 Now, Sir, if you be for a very short and witty dis- 
 covery, let it be upon that of St. Matthew vi. 27. Which 
 of you, by taking thought, can add one cubit unto his stature ? 
 The discovery is this, that "whilst the disciples were 
 taking thought for a cubit ; CHRIST takes them down a 
 cubit lower! " 
 
 Notable also are two discoveries made upon St. 
 Matthew viii. i. i. That " CHRIST went down, as well 
 as went up. When he came down from the mountain." 
 2. That "the multitude did not go 'hail fellow well met ! ' 
 with him, nor before him ; for great multitudes followed him." 
 I love, with all my heart, when people can prove what 
 they say. For there be many that will talk of their Dis- 
 coveries and spiritual Observations ; and when all comes 
 to all, they are nothing but pitiful guesses and slender con- 
 jectures. 
 
 In like manner, that was no contemptible discovery
 
 284 SEARCHING FOR OUT-OF-THE-WAY TEXTS. [I 
 
 that was made upon St. Matthew viii. 19. And a certain 
 Scribe came and said, " Master, I will follow thee where- 
 soever thou goest." " A thou shall be followed more than 
 a that. I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest. 
 
 And, in my opinion, that was not altogether amiss, 
 upon St. Matthew xi. 2. Now when JOHN had heard in 
 prison the works of CHRIST, he sent two of his disciples. 
 The discovery is this. That " it is not good sending 
 single to CHRIST, he sent two of his disciples." 
 
 Some also, possibly may not dislike that upon St. Luke 
 xii. 35. Letyour loins be girded. " I discover," says he, 
 " there must be a holy girding and trussing up for heaven." 
 But I shall end all, with that very politic one that 
 he makes upon St. Matthew xii. 47. Then said one unto 
 him "Behold thy mother and thy brethren stand without, 
 desiring to speak with thee." But he answered and said, 
 " Who is my mother ? and who are my brethren ? " "I dis- 
 cover now," says he, "that JESUS is upon business." 
 Doubtless, this was one of the greatest Discoverers of 
 Hidden Mysteries, and one of the most Fryers into Spiritual 
 Secrets that ever the world was owner of. It was very well 
 that he happened upon the godly calling, and no secular 
 employment : or else, in good truth ! down had they all 
 gone ! Turk 1 Pope ! and Emperor ! for he would have dis- 
 covered them, one way or another, eveiy man ! 
 
 Not much unlike to these wonderful Discoverers, are they 
 who, choosing to preach on some Point in Divinity, shall 
 purposely avoid all such plain Texts as might give them very 
 just occasion to discourse upon their intended subject, and 
 shall pitch upon some other places of Scripture, which no 
 creature in the world but themselves, did ever imagine that 
 which they offerto be therein designed. My meaning, Sir, is this. 
 
 Suppose you have a mind to make a sermon concerning 
 Episcopacy, as in the late times [the Commonwealth] there 
 were several occasions for it, you must, by no means, take 
 any place of Scripture that proves or favours that kind of 
 Ecclesiastical Government ! for then the plot will be dis- 
 covered ; and the people will say to themselves, " We know 
 where to find you ! You intend to preach about Episcopacy ! "
 
 AN ARGUMENT FOR THE RESTORATION. 285 
 
 But you must take Acts, chapter xvi. verse 30, Sirs, what 
 must I do to be saved ? An absolute place for Episcopacy ! 
 that all former Divines had idly overlooked ! For Sirs being 
 in the Greek Kvpwi, which is to say, in true and strict 
 translation, Lords, what is more plain than, that of old, 
 Episcopacy was not only the acknowledged Government ; 
 but that Bishops were formerly Peers of the Realm, and so 
 ought to sit in the House of Lords ! 
 
 Or, suppose that you have a mind to commend to your 
 people, Kingly Government : you must not take any place 
 that is plainly to the purpose ! but that of the Evangelist, 
 Seek first the Kingdom of GOD ! From which words, the 
 doctrine will plainly be, that Monarchy or Kingly Govern- 
 ment is most according to the mind of GOD. For it is not 
 said, " seek the Parliament of GOD!" "the Army of GOD !" 
 or " the Committee of Safety of GOD ! " but it is " seek the 
 Kingdom of GOD ! " And who could expect less ? Im- 
 mediately after this [i.e., this argument], the King came in, and 
 the Bishops were restored [1660 A.D.]. 
 
 Again, Sir (because I would willingly be understood), 
 suppose you design to preach about Election and Reproba- 
 tion. As for the eighth chapter to the Romans, that is too 
 well known ! but there is a little private place in the Psalms 
 that will do the business as well ! Psalm xc. 19, In the 
 multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul. 
 
 The doctrine, which naturally flows from the words, will 
 be that amongst the multitude of thoughts, there is a great 
 thought of Election and Reprobation ; and then, away with 
 the Point ! according as the preacher is inclined. 
 
 Or suppose, lastly, that you were not fully satisfied that 
 Pluralities were lawful or convenient. May I be so bold, 
 Sir ? I pray, what Text would you choose to preach up against 
 non-residents ? Certainly, nothing ever was better picked 
 than that of St. Matthew i. 2. ABRAHAM begat ISAAC. A 
 clear place against non-residents ! for " had ABRAHAM not 
 resided, but had discontinued from SARAH his wife, he could 
 never have begotten ISAAC ! " 
 
 But it is high time, Sir, to make an end of their preaching, 
 lest you be as much tired with the repetition of it, as the 
 people were little benefited when they heard it.
 
 2 86USUAL PREACHING. MlSUSE OF CONCORDANCE. 
 
 I shall only mind you, Sir, of one thing more ; and that is 
 [4] the ridiculous, senseless, and unintended use which many 
 of them make of Concordances. 
 
 I shall give you but one instance of it, although I could 
 furnish you with a hundred printed ones. 
 
 The Text, Sir, is this, Galatians vi. 15, For in CHRIST 
 JESUS neither Circumcision nor Uncircumcision avail anything; 
 but a new creature. Now, all the world knows the meaning 
 of this to be, that, let a man be of what nation he will, Jew 
 or Gentile, if he amends his life, and walks according to the 
 Gospel, he shall be accepted with GOD. 
 
 But this is not the way that pleases them ! They must 
 bring into the sermon, to no purpose at all ! a vast heap of 
 places of Scripture, which the Concordance will furnish them 
 with, where the word new is mentioned. 
 
 And the Observation must be that "GOD is for new 
 things. GOD is for a new creature. St. John xix. 41, Now 
 in the place where he was crucified, there was a garden ; and 
 in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yei 
 laid. There they laid JESUS. And again St. Mark xvi. 
 17. CHRIST tells his disciples that they that are true 
 believers, shall cast out devils, and speak with new 
 tongues. And likewise, the prophet teaches us, Isaiah 
 xlii. 10, Sing unto the LORD a new song, and his praise to 
 the end of the earth. 
 
 " Whence it is plain that CHRIST is not for old things. 
 He is not for an old sepulchre. He is not for old tongues. 
 He is not for an old song. He is not for an old creature. 
 CHRIST is for a new creature ! Circumcision and Uncircum- 
 cision availeth nothing, but a new creature. And what do we 
 read concerning SAMSON ? Judges xv. 15. Is it not that 
 he slew a thousand of the Philistines with one new jaw- 
 bone ? An old one might have killed its tens, its twenties, 
 its hundreds ! but it must be a new jawbone that is able 
 to kill a thousand ! GOD is for the new creature \ 
 
 " But may not some say, ' Is GOD altogether for new 
 things ? ' How comes it about then, that the prophet 
 says, Isaiah i. 13, 14, Bring no more vain oblations ! &c. 
 Your new Moons, and your appointed Feasts, my soul hatethl 
 And again, what means that, Deuteronomy xxxii. 17, 19, 
 They sacrificed unto devils, and to new gods, whom they knew
 
 THE POVERTY OF SOME OF THE CLERGY. 287 
 
 not, to new gods that came newly up. . . . And when 
 the LORD saw it, He abhorred them ! To which I 
 answer, that GOD indeed is not for new moons, nor for 
 new gods ; but, excepting moons and gods, He is for the 
 new creature." 
 
 It is possible, Sir, that somebody besides yourself, may be 
 so vain as to read this Letter: and they may perhaps tell 
 you, that there be no such silly and useless people as I have 
 described. And if there be, there be not above two or three 
 in a country [county]. Or should there be, it is no such com- 
 plaining matter : seeing that the same happens in other 
 professions, in Law and Physic : in both [of] which, there be 
 many a contemptible creature. 
 
 Such therefore as these, may be pleased to know that, if 
 there had been need, I could have told them, either the book 
 (and very page almost) of all that has been spoken about 
 Preaching, or else the When and Where, and the Person that 
 preached it. 
 
 As to the second, viz. : that the Clergy are all mightily 
 furnished with Learning and Prudence ; except ten, twenty, 
 or so ; I shall not say anything myself, because a very great 
 Scholar of our nation shall speak for me : who tells us that 
 " such Preaching as is usual, is a hindrance of Salvation 
 rather than the means to it." And what he intends by 
 " usual," I shall not here go about to explain. 
 
 And as to the last, I shall also, in short, answer, That if the 
 Advancement of true Religion and the eternal Salvation of a 
 Man were no more considerable than the health of his body 
 and the security of his estate ; we need not be more solicitous 
 about the Learning and Prudence of the Clergy, than of the 
 Lawyers and Physicians. But we believing it to be otherwise, 
 surely, we ought to be more concerned for the reputation 
 and success of the one than of the other. 
 
 COME now, Sir, to the Second Part that was 
 designed, viz. : the Poverty of some of the Clergy. 
 By whose mean condition, their Sacred Profession 
 is much disparaged, and their Doctrine undervalued. 
 What large provisions, of old, GOD was pleased to make
 
 288 PRIESTLY PROVISION UNDER THE OLD LAW. 
 
 for the Priesthood, and upon what reasons, is easily seen to 
 any one that but looks into the Bible. The Levites, it is true, 
 were left out, in the Division of the Inheritance ; not to their 
 loss, but to their great temporal advantage. For whereas, 
 had they been common sharers with the rest, a Twelfth part 
 only would have been their just allowance ; GOD was 
 pleased to settle upon them, a Tenth, and that without any 
 trouble or charge of tillage : which made their portion much 
 more considerable than the rest. 
 
 And as this provision was very bountiful, so the reasons, 
 no question ! were very Divine and substantial : which seem 
 chiefly to be these two. 
 
 First, that the Priesthood might be altogether at leisure for 
 the service of GOD : and that they of that Holy Order 
 might not be distracted with the cares of the world; 
 and interrupted by every neighbour's horse or cow that 
 breaks their hedges or shackles [or hobbled, feeds among] 
 their corn. But that living a kind of spiritual life, and 
 being removed a little from all worldly affairs; they 
 might always be fit to receive holy inspirations, and 
 always ready to search out the Mind of GOD, and to 
 advise and direct the people therein. 
 
 Not as if this Divine exemption of them from the 
 common troubles and cares of this life was intended as 
 an opportunity of luxury and laziness : for certainly, 
 there is a labour besides digging ! and there is a true 
 carefulness without following the plough, and looking 
 after their cattle ! 
 
 And such was the employment of those holy men of 
 old. Their care and business was to please GOD, and 
 to charge themselves with the welfare of all His people : 
 which thing, he that does it with a good and satisfied 
 conscience, I will assure he has a task upon him much 
 beyond them that have for their care, their hundreds of 
 oxen and five hundreds of sheep. 
 
 Another reason that this large allowance was made to the 
 Priests, was that they might be enabled to relieve the 
 poor, to entertain strangers, and thereby to encourage 
 people in the ways of godliness. For they being, in a 
 peculiar manner, the servants of GOD, GOD was 
 pleased to entrust in their hands, a portion more than
 
 THE MEDITATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 289 
 
 ordinary of the good things of the land, as the safest 
 Storehouse and Treasury for such as were in need. 
 
 That, in all Ages therefore, there should be a continued 
 tolerable maintenance for the Clergy : the same reasons, as 
 well as many others, make us think to be very necessary. 
 Unless they will count money and victuals to be only Types 
 and Shadows ! and so, to cease with the Ceremonial Law. 
 
 For where the Minister is pinched as to the tolerable con- 
 veniences of this life, the chief of his care and time must be 
 spent, not in an impertinent [trifling] considering what Text 
 of Scripture will be most useful for his parish ; what in- 
 structions most seasonable ; and what authors, best to be 
 consulted : but the chief of his thoughts and his main busi- 
 ness must be, How to live that week ? Where he shall have 
 bread for his family ? Whose sow has lately pigged ? 
 Whence will come the next rejoicing goose, or the next 
 cheerful basket ot apples ? how far to Lammas, or [Easter] 
 Offerings ? When shall we have another christening and 
 cakes ? and Who is likely to marry, or die ? 
 
 These are very seasonable considerations, and worthy of a 
 man's thoughts. For a family cannot be maintained by 
 texts and contexts ! and a child that lies crying in the 
 cradle, will not be satisfied without a little milk, and perhaps 
 sugar ; though there be a small German System [of Divinity] 
 in the house ! 
 
 But suppose he does get into a little hole over the oven, 
 with a lock to it, called his Study, towards the latter end 
 of the week : for you must know, Sir, there are very few 
 Texts of Scripture that can be divided, at soonest, before 
 Friday night ; and some there be, that will never be divided 
 but upon Sunday morning, and that not very early, but 
 either a little before they go, or in the going, to church. I 
 say, suppose the Gentleman gets thus into his Study, one 
 may very nearly guess what is his first thought, when he 
 comes there viz., that the last kilderkin of drink is nearly 
 departed ! that he has but one poor single groat in the house, 
 and there is Judgement and Execution ready to come out 
 against it, for milk and eggs ! 
 
 Now, Sir, can any man think, that one thus racked and 
 
 T 7
 
 290 USUAL LIBRARY OF A COUNTRY PARSON. \ 
 
 tortured, can be seriously intent, half an hour, to contrive 
 anything that might be of real advantage to his people ? 
 
 Besides, perhaps, that week, he has met with some dismal 
 crosses and most undoing misfortunes. 
 
 There was a scurvy- conditioned mole, that broke into his 
 pasture, and ploughed up the best part of his glebe. And, a 
 little after that, came a couple of spiteful ill-favoured crows, 
 and trampled down the little remaining grass. Another 
 day, having but four chickens, sweep comes the kite ! and 
 carries away the fattest and hopefullest of the brood. Then, 
 after all this, came the jackdaws and starlings (idle birds that 
 they are !), and they scattered and carried away from his 
 thin thatched house, forty or fifty of the best straws. And, 
 to make him completely unhappy, after all these afflictions, 
 another day, that he had a pair of breeches on, coming over 
 a perverse stile, he suffered very much, in carelessly lifting 
 over his leg. 
 
 Now, what parish can be so inconsiderate and unreason- 
 able as to look for anything from one, whose fancy is thus 
 checked, and whose understanding is thus ruffled and dis- 
 ordered? They may as soon expect comfort and consola- 
 tion from him that lies racked with the gout and the stone, 
 as from a Divine thus broken and shattered in his fortunes ! 
 
 But we will grant that he meets not with any of these 
 such frightful disasters ; but that he goes into his study with 
 a mind as calm as the evening. For all that ; upon Sunday, 
 we must be content with what GOD shall please to send us! 
 For as for books, he is, for want of money, so moderately 
 furnished, that except it be a small Geneva Bible (so small, 
 as it will not be desired to lie open of itself), together with a 
 certain Concordance thereunto belonging ; as also a Latin 
 book for all kind of Latin sentences, called Polyanthcea; with 
 some Exposition upon the Catechism, a portion of which, is to 
 be got by heart, and to be put off for his own ; and perhaps 
 Mr. [JOSEPH] CARYL upon []OHN] PINEDA [these two authors 
 wrote vast Commentaries on the Book of Job] ; Mr. [JOHN] 
 DOD upon the Commandments, Mr. [SAMUEL] CLARKE'S Lives 
 of famous men, both in Church and State (such as Mr. 
 CARTER of Norwich, that uses to eat such abundance of 
 pudding) : besides, I say, these, there is scarcely anything 
 to be found, but a budget of old stitched sermons hung up
 
 s'A^g^oJ ARGUMENT FOR KEEPING THE CLERGY POOR. 291 
 
 behind the door, with a few broken girths, two or three yards 
 of whipcord ; and, perhaps, a saw and a hammer, to prevent 
 dilapidations. 
 
 Now, what may not a Divine do, though but of ordinary 
 parts and unhappy education, with such learned helps and 
 assistances as these ? No vice, surely, durst stand before 
 him ! no heresy, affront him ! 
 
 And furthermore, Sir, it is to be considered, that he that 
 is but thus meanly provided for : it is not his only infelicity 
 that he has neither time, mind, nor books to improve himself 
 for the inward benefit and satisfaction of his people ; but also 
 that he is not capable of doing that outward good amongst 
 the needy, which is a great ornament to that holy Profession, 
 and a considerable advantage towards the having the doctrine 
 believed and practised in a degenerate world. 
 
 And that which augments the misery ; whether he be able or 
 not, it is expected from him, if there comes a Brief to town, 
 for the Minister to cast in his mite will not satisfy ! unless he 
 can create sixpence or a shilling to put into the box, for a 
 stale [lure], to decoy in the rest of the parish. Nay, he that 
 hath but 20 or 30 [=6o to 90 now] per annum, if he bids 
 not up as high as the best in the parish in all acts of charity, 
 he is counted carnal and earthly-minded ; only because he 
 durst not coin ! and cannot work miracles! 
 
 And let there come ever so many beggars, half of these, 
 I will secure you ! shall presently inquire for the Minister's 
 house. " For GOD," say they, " certainly dwells there, and 
 has laid up for us, sufficient relief ! " 
 
 I know many of the Laity are usually so extremely tender 
 of the spiritual welfare of the Clergy, that they are apt to 
 wish them but very small temporal goods, lest their inward 
 state should be in danger ! A thing, they need not much fear, 
 since that effectual humiliation by HENRY VIII. " For," 
 say they, " the great tithes, large glebes, good victuals and 
 warm clothes do but puff up the Priest ! making him fat, 
 foggy, and useless ! and fill him with pride, vainglory, and 
 all kind of inward wickedness and pernicious corruption ! 
 We see this plain," say they, " in the Whore of Babylon 
 [Roman Catholic Church] ! To what a degree of luxury and 
 intemperance, besides a great deal of false doctrine, have
 
 292 5 s - OR 6s. FOR A SUNDAY'S DUTY. 
 
 riches and honour raised up that strumpet ! How does she 
 strut it ! and swagger it over all the world ! terrifying Princes, 
 and despising Kings and Emperors ! 
 
 " The Clergy, if ever we would expect any edification from 
 them, ought to be dieted and kept low ! to be meek and 
 humble, quiet, and stand in need of a pot of milk from their 
 next neighbour! and always be very loth to ask for their 
 very right, for fear of making any disturbance in the parish, 
 or seeming to understand or have any respect for this vile 
 and outward world ! 
 
 " Under the Law, indeed, in those old times of Darkness 
 and Eating, the Priests had their first and second dishes, 
 their milk and honey, their Manna and quails, also their 
 outward and inward vestments : but now, under the Gospel, 
 and in times of Light and Fasting, a much more sparing diet 
 is fitter, and a single coat (though it be never so ancient and 
 thin) is fully sufficient ! " 
 
 " We must look," say they, " if we would be the better for 
 them, for a hardy and labouring Clergy, that is mortified to 
 [the possession of] a horse and all such pampering vanities ! 
 and that can foot it five or six miles in the dirt, and preach 
 till starlight, for as many [5 or 6] shillings ! as also a sober 
 and temperate Clergy, that will not eat so much as the 
 Laity, but that the least pig, the least sheaf, and the least of 
 everything, may satisfy their Spiritualship ! And besides, a 
 money-renouncing Clergy, that can abstain from seeing a 
 penny, a month together ! unless it be when the Collectors 
 and Visitationers come. These are all Gospel dispensations ! 
 and great instances of patience, contentedness, and resigna- 
 tion of affections [in respect] to all the emptinesses and 
 fooleries of this life ! " 
 
 But cannot a Clergyman choose rather to lie upon feathers 
 than a hurdle ; but he must be idle, soft, and effeminate ! 
 May he not desire wholesome food and fresh drink ; unless he 
 be a cheat, a hypocrite, and an impostor! And must he 
 needs be void of all grace, though he has a shilling in his 
 purse, after the rates be crossed [off] ! and full of pride and 
 vanity though his house stands not upon crutches ; and 
 though his chimney is to be seen a foot above the thatch ! 
 
 O, how prettily and temperately may half a score of children 
 be maintained with almost 20 [=6o now] per annum !
 
 ] FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES OF THE CLERGY. 293 
 
 What a handsome shift, a poor ingenious and frugal Divine 
 will make, to take it by turns, and wear a cassock [a long 
 cloak] one year, and a pair of breeches another ! What a 
 becoming thing is it for him that serves at the Altar, to fill 
 the dung cart in dry weather, and to heat the oven and pull 
 [strip] hemp in wet ! And what a pleasant thing is it, to see 
 the Man of GOD fetching up his single melancholy cow from 
 a small rib [strip] of land that is scarcely to be found without 
 a guide ! or to be seated upon a soft and well grinded pouch 
 [bag] of meal ! or to be planted upon a pannier, with a pair 
 of geese or turkeys bobbing out their heads from under his 
 canonical coat ! as you cannot but remember the man, Sir, 
 that was thus accomplished. Or to find him raving about 
 the yards or keeping his chamber close, because the duck 
 lately miscarried of an egg, or that the never-failing hen has 
 unhappily forsaken her wonted nest ! 
 
 And now, shall we think that such employments as these, 
 can, any way, consist with due reverence, or tolerable respect 
 from a parish ? 
 
 And he speaks altogether at a venture that says that "this 
 is false, or, at least it need not be so ; notwithstanding the 
 mean condition of some of the Clergy." For let any one make 
 it out to me, which way is it possible that a man shall be 
 able to maintain perhaps eight or ten in his family, with 20 
 or 30 per annum, without a intolerable dependence upon 
 his parish ; and without committing himself to such vileness 
 as will, in all likelihood, render him contemptible to his people. 
 
 Now where the income is so pitifully small (which, I will 
 assure you, is the portion of hundreds of the Clergy of this 
 nation), which way shall he manage it for the subsistence of 
 himself and his family ? 
 
 If he keeps the glebe in his own hand (which he may 
 easily do, almost in the hollow of it !) what increase can he 
 expect from a couple of apple trees, a brood of ducklings, a 
 hemp land, and as much pasture as is just able to summer a 
 cow? 
 
 As for his tithes, he either rents them out to a layman ; 
 who will be very unwilling to be his tenant, unless he may 
 be sure to save by the bargain at least a third part : or else, 
 he compounds for them ; and then, as for his money, he 
 shall have it when all the rest of the world be paid !
 
 294 SHOULD NOT THE CLERGY BE KEPT POOR ? [$' 
 
 But if he thinks fit to take his dues in kind, he then 
 either demands his true and utmost right ; and if so, it is a 
 great hazard if he be not counted a caterpillar ! a muck 
 worm ! a very earthly minded man ! and too much sighted 
 into this lower world! which was made, as many of the 
 Laity think, altogether for themselves : or else, he must 
 tamely commit himself to that little dose of the creature 
 that shall be pleased to be proportioned out unto him ; 
 choosing rather to starve in peace and quietness, than to 
 gain his right by noise and disturbance. 
 
 The best of all these ways that a Clergyman shall think 
 fit for his preferment, to be managed (where it is so small), 
 are such as will undoubtedly make him either to be hated 
 and reviled, or else pitifully poor and disesteemed. 
 
 But has it not gone very hard, in all Ages with the Men 
 of GOD ? Was not our Lord and Master our great and high 
 Priest? and was not his fare low, and his life full of trouble? 
 And was not the condition of most of his disciples very 
 mean ? Were not they notably pinched and severely treated 
 after him ? And is it not the duty of every Christian to 
 imitate such holy patterns ? but especially of the Clergy, 
 who are to be shining lights and visible examples ; and 
 therefore to be satisfied with a very little morsel, and to 
 renounce ten times as much of the world as other people ? 
 
 And is not patience better than the Great Tithes, and 
 contentedness to be preferred before large fees and customs ? 
 Is there any comparison between the expectation of a cringing 
 bow or a low hat, and mortification to all such vanities and 
 fopperies ; especially with those who, in a peculiar manner, 
 hope to receive their inheritance, and make their harvest in 
 the next life ? 
 
 This was well thought of indeed. But for all that, if you 
 please, Sir, we will consider a little, some of those remark- 
 able Inconveniences that do, most undoubtedly, attend upon 
 the Ministers being so meanly provided for. 
 
 First of all, the holy Men of GOD or the Ministry in 
 general, hereby, is disesteemed and rendered of small ac- 
 count. For though they be called Men of GOD : yet when 
 it is observed that GOD seems to take but little care of
 
 ] SPIRITUAL PEDDLING WITH SERMONS. 295 
 
 them, in making them tolerable provision for this life, or 
 that men are suffered to take away that which GOD was 
 pleased to provide for them ; the people are presently apt to 
 think that they belong to GOD no more than ordinary folks, 
 if so much. 
 
 And although it is not to be questioned but that the 
 Laying on of Hands is a most Divine institution : yet it is 
 not all the Bishops' hands in the world, laid upon a man, if 
 he be either notoriously ignorant or dismally poor, that can 
 procure him any hearty and lasting respect. For though we 
 find that some of the disciples of CHRIST that carried on and 
 established the great designs of the Gospel, were persons of 
 ordinary employments and education: yet we see little 
 reason to think that miracles should be continued, to do 
 that which natural endeavours, assisted by the Spirit of 
 GOD, are able to perform. And if CHRIST were still upon 
 earth to make bread for such as are his peculiar Servants 
 and Declarers of his Mind and Doctrine ; the Laity, if they 
 please, should eat up all the corn themselves, as well the 
 tenth sheaf as the others : but seeing it is otherwise, and 
 that that miraculous power was not left to the succeeding 
 Clergy ; for them to beg their bread, or depend for their 
 subsistence upon the good pleasure and humour of their 
 parish, is a thing that renders that Holy Office very much 
 slighted and disregarded. 
 
 That constitution therefore of our Church was a most 
 prudent design, that says that all who are ordained shall be 
 ordained to somewhat, not ordained at random, to preach in 
 general to the whole world, as they .travel up and down the 
 road; but to this or that particular parish. And, no question, 
 the reason was, to prevent spiritual peddling ; and gadding up 
 and down the country with a bag of trifling and insignificant 
 sermons, inquiring " Who will buy any doctrine ? " So that 
 no more might be received into Holy Orders than the Church 
 had provision for. 
 
 But so very little is this regarded, that if a young Divinity 
 Intender has but got a sermon of his own, or of his father's ; 
 although he knows not where to get a meal's meat or one 
 penny of money by his preaching : yet he gets a Qualification 
 from some beneficed man or other, who, perhaps, is no more 
 able to keep a curate than I am to keep ten footboys ! and so
 
 296 THE PAPACY INSPIRES AWE, MANY WAYS. 
 
 he is made a Preacher. And upon this account, I have 
 known an ordinary Divine, whose living would but just keep 
 himself and his family from melancholy and despair, shroud 
 under his protection as many Curates as the best Nobleman 
 in the land hath Chaplains [i.e., eight]. 
 
 Now, many such as these, go into Orders against the sky 
 falls! foreseeing no more likelihood of any preferment coming 
 to them, than you or I do of being Secretaries of State. Now, 
 so often as any such as these, for want of maintenance, are 
 put to any unworthy and disgraceful shifts ; this reflects 
 disparagement upon all that Order of holy men. 
 
 And we must have a great care of comparing our small 
 preferred Clergy with those but of the like fortune, in the 
 Church of Rome : they having many arts and devices of 
 gaining respect and reverence to their Office, which we count 
 neither just nor warrantable. We design no more, than to 
 be in a likely capacity of doing good, and not discrediting 
 our religion, nor suffering the Gospel to be disesteemed : but 
 their aim is clearly, not only by cheats, contrived tales, 
 and feigned miracles, to get money in abundance ; but to be 
 worshipped, and almost deified, is as little as they will content 
 themselves withal. 
 
 For how can it be, but that the people belonging to a 
 Church, wherein the Supreme Governor is believed never to 
 err (either purely by virtue of his own single wisdom, or by 
 help of his inspiring Chair, or by the assistance of his little 
 infallible Cardinals ; for it matters not, where the root of 
 not being mistaken lies) : I say, how can it be, but that all 
 that are believers of such extraordinary knowledge, must 
 needs stand in most direful awe, not only of the aforesaid 
 Supreme, but of all that adhere to him, or are in any ghostly 
 authority under him ? 
 
 And although it so happens that this same extraordinary 
 knowing Person is pleased to trouble himself with a good 
 large proportion of this vile and contemptible world : so that 
 should he, now and then, upon some odd and cloudy day, 
 count himself mortal, and be a little mistaken ; yet he has 
 chanced to make such a comfortable provision for himself 
 and his followers, that he must needs be sufficiently valued 
 and honoured amongst all. But had he but just enough to
 
 l'*] ROMAN CATHOLIC PRIESTS NOT MARRIED. 297 
 
 keep himself from catching cold and starving, so long as he 
 is invested with such spiritual sovereignty and such a peculiar 
 privilege of being infallible ; most certainly, without quarrel- 
 ling, he takes the rode [?] of all mankind. 
 
 And as for the most inferior priests of all, although they 
 pretend not to such perfection of knowledge : yet there be 
 many extraordinary things which they are believed to be able 
 to do, which beget in people a most venerable respect towards 
 them : such is, the power of " making GOD " in the Sacra- 
 ment, a thing that must infallibly procure an infinite admira- 
 tion of him that can do it, though he scarce knows the Ten 
 Commandments, and has not a farthing to buy himself bread. 
 And then, when " CHRIST is made," their giving but half of 
 him to the Laity, is a thing also, if it be minded, that will 
 very much help on the business, and make the people stand 
 at a greater distance from the Clergy. I might instance, 
 likewise, in their Auricular Confession, enjoining of Penance, 
 forgiving sins, making of Saints, freeing people from Purga- 
 tory, and many such useful tricks they have, and wonders 
 they can do, to draw in the forward believing Laity into a 
 most right worshipful opinion and honourable esteem of 
 them. 
 
 And therefore, seeing our holy Church of England counts 
 it not just, nor warrantable, thus to cheat the world by 
 belying the Scriptures ; and by making use of such falsehood 
 and stratagems to gain respect and reverence : it behoves us, 
 certainly, to wish for, and endeavour, all such means as are 
 useful and lawful for the obtaining of the same. 
 
 I might here, I think, conveniently add that though many 
 preferments amongst the Clergy of Rome may possibly be as 
 small as some of ours in England ; yet are we to be put in 
 mind of one more excellent contrivance of theirs : and that 
 is, the denial of marriage to Priests, whereby they are freed 
 from the expenses of a family, and a train of young children, 
 that, upon my word ! will soon suck up the milk of a cow or 
 two, and grind in pieces a few sheaves of corn. The Church 
 of England therefore thinking it not fit to oblige their Clergy 
 to a single life (and I suppose are not likely to alter their 
 opinion, unless they receive better reasons for it from Rome 
 than have been as yet sent over) : he makes a comparison 
 very wide from the purpose, that goes about to try the livings
 
 298 GOOD CLOTHES GRACE THE MESSAGE, \J /%* 
 
 here in England by those of the Church of Rome; there 
 being nothing more frequent in our Church than for a Clergy- 
 man to have three or four children to get bread for, by that 
 time, one, in theirs, shall be allowed to go into Holy Orders. 
 
 There is still one thing remaining, which ought not to be 
 forgotten (a thing that is sometimes urged, I know, by the 
 Papist, for the single life of the Priests) that does also much 
 lessen the esteem of our Ministry ; and that is the poor and 
 contemptible employment that many children of the Clergy 
 are forced upon, by reason of the meanness of their father's 
 revenue. 
 
 It has happened, I know, sometimes, that whereas it has 
 pleased GOD to bestow upon the Clergyman a very sufficient 
 income : yet such has been his carelessness as that he hath 
 made but pitiful provision for his children : and, on the other 
 side, notwithstanding all the good care and thoughtfulness of 
 the father, it has happened, at other times, that the children, 
 beyond the power of all advice, have seemed to be resolved 
 for debauchery. 
 
 But to see Clergymen's children condemned to the walking 
 [holding] of horses ! to wait upon a tapster ! or the like ; and 
 that only because their father was not able to allow them a 
 more genteel education : these are such employments that 
 cannot but bring great disgrace and dishonour upon the 
 Clergy. 
 
 But this is not all the inconvenience that attends the 
 small income that is the portion of some Clergymen : for 
 besides that the Clergy in general is disesteemed, they are 
 likely also to do but little good in their parish. For it is a 
 hard matter for the people to believe, that he talks anything 
 to the purpose, that wants ordinary food for his family ; and 
 that his advice and exposition can come from above, that is 
 scarcely defended against the weather. I have heard a 
 travelling poor man beg with very good reason and a great 
 stream of seasonable rhetoric ; and yet it has been very little 
 minded, because his clothes were torn, or at least out of 
 fashion. And, on the other side, I have heard but an 
 ordinary saying proceeding from a fine suit and a good lusty 
 title of honour, highly admired ; which would not possibly 
 have been hearkened to, had it been uttered by a meaner
 
 THE ADVANTAGES OF A GOOD COUNTENANCE. 299 
 
 person : yet, by all means, because it was a fancy of His 
 Worship's, it must be counted high ! and notably expressed ! 
 If, indeed, this world were made of sincere and pure beaten 
 virtue, like the gold of the first Age, then such idle and fond 
 prejudices would be a very vain supposal ; and the doctrine 
 that proceeded from the most battered and contemptible 
 habit [clothes] and the most sparing diet would be as ac- 
 ceptable as that which flowed from a silken cassock [cloak] 
 and the best cheer. But seeing the world is not absolutely 
 perfect, it is to be questioned whether he that runs upon 
 trust for every ounce of provisions he spends in his family, 
 can scarce look from his pulpit into any seat in the church 
 but that he spies somebody or other that he is beholden to 
 and depends upon ; and, for want of money, has scarce con- 
 fidence to speak handsomely to his Sexton : it is to be 
 questioned, I say, whether one, thus destitute of all tolerable 
 subsistence, and thus shattered and distracted with most 
 necessary cares, can either invent with discretion, or utter with 
 courage, anything that may be beneficial to his people, whereby 
 they may become his diligent attenders and hearty respecters. 
 
 And as the people do almost resolve against being amended 
 or bettered by the Minister's preaching, whose circum- 
 stances as to this life are so bad, and his condition so low : 
 so likewise is their devotion very cool and indifferent, in 
 hearing from such a one the Prayers of the Church. 
 
 The Divine Service, all the world knows ! is the same, if 
 read in the most magnificent Cathedral or in the most 
 private parlour ; or if performed by the Archbishop himself, 
 or by the meanest of his priests : but as the solemnity of the 
 place, besides the consecration of it to GOD Almighty, does 
 much influence the devotion of the people; so also the 
 quality and condition of the person that reads it. And 
 though there be not that acknowledged difference between a 
 Priest comfortably provided for, and him that is in the thorns 
 and briars ; as there is between one placed in great dignity 
 and authority and one that is in less : yet such a difference 
 the people will make, that they will scarce hearken to what 
 is read by the one, and yet be most religiously attentive to 
 the other. Not, surely, that any one can think that he 
 whose countenance is cheerly and his barns full, can petition
 
 300 THE SERVICE READ BY CONTEMPTIBLE MEN. [ 
 
 heaven more effectually, or prevail with GOD for the forgive- 
 ness of a greater sin, than he who is pitifully pale and is not 
 owner of an ear of corn : yet, most certainly, they do not 
 delight to confess their sins and sing praises to GOD with 
 him who sighs, more for want of money and victuals, 
 than for his trespasses and offences. Thus it is, and will 
 be ! do you or I, Sir, what we can to the contrary. 
 
 Did our Church indeed believe, with the Papists, every 
 person rightfully ordained, to be a kind of GOD Almighty, 
 working miracles and doing wonders ; then would people 
 most readily prostrate themselves to everything in Holy 
 Orders, though it could but just creep ! But as our Church 
 counts those of the Clergy to be but mortal men, though 
 peculiarly dedicated to GOD and His service ; their be- 
 haviour, their condition and circumstances of life, will 
 necessarily come into our value and esteem of them. And 
 therefore it is no purpose for men to say " that this need not 
 be, it being but mere prejudice, humour, and fancy : and that 
 if the man be but truly in Holy Orders ; that is the great 
 matter ! and from thence come blessings, absolution, and 
 intercession through CHRIST with GOD. And that it is not 
 Philosophy, Languages, Ecclesiastical History, Prudence, 
 Discretion, and Reputation, by which the Minister can help 
 us on towards heaven." 
 
 Notwithstanding this, I say again, that seeing men are 
 men, and seeing that we are of the Church of England and 
 not of that of Rome, these things ought to be weighed and 
 considered ; and for want of being so, our Church of England 
 has suffered much. 
 
 And I am almost confident that, since the Reformation, 
 nothing has more hindered people from a just estimation of a 
 Formof Prayer and our holy Liturgy than employing a company 
 of boys, or old illiterate mumblers, to read the Service. And 
 I do verily believe, that, at this very day, especially in Cities 
 and Corporations, which make up the third part of our nation, 
 there is nothing that does more keep back some dissatisfied 
 people from Church till Service be over, than that it is read 
 by some 10 or 12 man, with whose parts and education 
 they are so well acquainted, as to have reason to know that 
 he has but skill enough to read the Lessons with twice con- 
 ning over. And though the office of the Reader be only to
 
 WAITING OUTSIDE TILL PRAYERS ARE OVER. 301 
 
 read word for word, and neither to invent or expound : yet 
 people love he should be a person of such worth and know- 
 ledge, as it may be supposed he understands what he reads. 
 
 And although for some it were too buidensome a task to 
 read the Service twice a day, and preach as often ; yet cer- 
 tainly it were much better if the people had but one sermon 
 in a fortnight or month, so the Service were performed by 
 a knowing and valuable person, than to run an unlearned 
 rout of contemptible people into Holy Orders, on purpose 
 only to say the Prayers of the Church, who perhaps shall 
 understand very little more than a hollow pipe made of tin or 
 wainscoat. 
 
 Neither do I here at all reflect upon Cathedrals, where the 
 Prayers are usually read by some grave and worthy person. 
 And as for the unlearned singers, whether boys or men, 
 there is no complaint to be made, as to this case, than that 
 they have not an all understanding Organ, or a prudent and 
 discreet Cornet. 
 
 Neither need people be afraid that the Minister for want of 
 preaching should grow stiff and rusty ; supposing he came 
 not into the pulpit every week. For he can spend his time 
 very honestly, either by taking better care of what he 
 preaches, and by considering what is most useful and season- 
 able for the people : and not what subject he can preach upon 
 with most ease, or upon what text he can make a brave 
 speech, for which nobody shall be the better ! or where he can 
 best steal, without being discovered, as is the practice of 
 many Divines in private parishes. Or else, he may spend it 
 in visiting the sick, instructing the ignorant, and recovering 
 such as are gone astray. 
 
 For though there be churches built for public assemblies, 
 for public instruction and exhortation ; and though there be 
 not many absolutely plain places of Scripture that oblige the 
 Minister to walk from house to house : yet, certainly, people 
 might receive much more advantage from such charitable 
 visits and friendly conferences, than from general discourses 
 levelled at the whole world, where perhaps the greatest part 
 of the time shall be spent in useless Prefaces, Dividings, and 
 Flourishings. Which thing is very practicable ; excepting 
 some vast parishes : in which, also, it is much better to do 
 good to some, than to none at all.
 
 3O2 OCCASIONS OF CONTEMPT OF THE CLERGY. [}'*%. 
 
 There is but one calamity more that I shall mention, which 
 though it need not absolutely, yet it does too frequently, ac- 
 company the low condition of many of the Clergy : and that 
 is, it is a great hazard if they be not idle, intemperate, and 
 scandalous. 
 
 I say, I cannot prove it strictly and undeniably that a man 
 smally beneficed, must of necessity be dissolute and 
 debauched. But when we consider how much he lies subject 
 to the humour of all reprobates, and how easily he is tempted 
 from his own house of poverty and melancholy : it is to be 
 feared that he will be willing, too often to forsake his own 
 Study of a few scurvy books ; and his own habitation of dark- 
 ness where there is seldom eating or drinking, for a good 
 lightsome one where there is a bountiful provision of both. 
 
 And when he comes there, though he swears not at all ; yet 
 he must be sure to say nothing to those that do it by all that 
 they can think of. And though he judges it not fit to lead 
 the Forlorn in vice and profaneness : yet, if he goes about to 
 damp a frolic, there is great danger, not only of losing his 
 Sunday dinner, but also all opportunities of such future 
 refreshments, for his niceness and squeamishness ! 
 
 And such as are but at all disposed to this lewd kind of 
 meetings ; besides the Devil, he shall have solicitors enough ! 
 who count all such revelling occasion very unsavoury and un- 
 hallowed, unless they have the presence of some Clergyman 
 to sanctify the ordinance : who, if he sticks at his glass, bless 
 him ! and call him but " Doctor !" and it slides presently [i.e., 
 the Clergyman drinks]. 
 
 I take no delight, I must confess, to insist upon this : but 
 only I could very much wish that such of our Governors as 
 go amongst our small preferred Clergy, to take a view of the 
 condition of the Church and Chancel ; that they would but 
 make inquiry, Whether the Minister himself be not much out 
 of repair ? 
 
 HAVE now done, Sir, with the Grounds of that Dis- 
 esteem that many of the Clergy lie under, both by 
 the Ignorance of some, and the extreme Poverty of 
 others. And I should have troubled you no further, 
 but that I thought it convenient not to omit the particular
 
 DOWN SUN AND MOON FOR ^25 A YEAR. 303 
 
 Occasions that do concur to the making of many of our 
 Clergy so pitifully poor and contemptible. 
 
 The first thing that contributes much to the Poverty of the 
 Clergy is the great scarcity of Livings. 
 
 Churches and Chapels we have enough, it is to be confessed, 
 if compared with the bigness of our nation : but, in respect of 
 that infinite number that are in Holy Orders, it is a very 
 plain case, that there is a very great want. And I am confi- 
 dent, that, in a very little time, I could procure hundreds 
 that should ride both sun and moon down, and be ever- 
 lastingly yours ! if you could help them but to a Living of 25 
 or 30 a year. 
 
 And this, I suppose, to be chiefly occasioned upon these 
 two accounts : either from the eagerness and ambition that some 
 people have, of going into Orders ; or from the refuge of others 
 into the Church, who, being otherwise disappointed of a 
 livelihood, hope to make sure of one by that means. 
 
 First, I say, that which increases the unprovided - for 
 number of the Clergy, is people posting into Orders before 
 they know their Message or business, only out of a certain 
 pride and ambition. Thus some are hugely in love with 
 the mere title of Priest or Deacon : never considering how 
 they shall live, or what good they are likely to do in their 
 Office ; but only they have a fancy, that a cassock, if it be 
 made long, is a very handsome garment, though it be never 
 paid for ; that the Desk is clearly the best, and the Pulpit, 
 the highest seat in all the parish ; that they shall take place 
 [precedence] of most Esquires and Right Worshipfuls ; that 
 they shall have the honour of being spiritual guides and 
 counsellors ; and they shall be supposed to understand more 
 of the Mind of GOD than ordinary, though perhaps they 
 scarcely know the Old Law from the New, nor the Canon from 
 the Apocrypha. Many, I say, such as these, there be, who 
 know not where to get two groats, nor what they have to say 
 to the people : but only because they have heard that the 
 office of a Minister is the most noble and honourable employ- 
 ment in the world ; therefore they (not knowing in the least 
 what the meaning of that is), Orders, by all means, must 
 have ! though it be to the disparagement of that holy 
 function. 
 
 Others also there be who are not so highly possessed with
 
 304 ORDAINED CLERGY FAR IN EXCESS OFLjvGS.[{JjJ*5l 
 
 the mere dignity of the office and honourableness of the em- 
 ployment ; but think, had they but licence and authority to 
 preach, O how they could pay it away ! and that they can 
 tell the people such strange things, as they never heard before, 
 in all their lives ! That they have got such a commanding 
 voice ! such heart-breaking expressions ! such a peculiar 
 method of Text-dividing ! and such notable helps for the 
 interpreting all difficulties in Scripture ! that they can shew 
 the people a much shorter way to heaven than has been, as 
 yet, made known by any ! 
 
 Such a forwardness as this, of going in Holy Orders, either 
 merely out of an ambitious humour of being called a Priest ; or 
 of thinking they could do such feats and wonders, if they 
 might be but free of the Pulpit, has filled the nation with 
 many more Divines than there is any competent mainte- 
 nance for in the Church. 
 
 Another great crowd that is made in the Church is by 
 those that take in there only as a place of shelter and refuge. 
 Thus, we have many turn Priests and Deacons, either for 
 want of employment in their profession of Law, Physic, or the 
 like ; or having been unfortunate in their trade, or having 
 broken a leg, or an arm, and so disabled from following 
 their former calling ; or having had the pleasure of spending 
 their estate, or being (perhaps deservedly) disappointed of 
 their inheritance. The Church is a very large and good 
 " Sanctuary" ; and one Spiritual shilling is as good as three 
 Temporality shillings. Let the hardest come to the hardest ! 
 if they can get by heart, Quid est fides ? Quid est Ecclesia ? 
 quot sunt Concilia Generalia ? and gain Orders; they may 
 prove Readers or Preachers, according as their gifts and 
 opportunities shall lie. Now many, such as these, the Church 
 being not able to provide for (as there is no great reason that 
 she should be solicitous about it) must needs prove a very 
 great disparagement to her ; they coming hither, just as the 
 old heathens used to go to prayers. When nothing would 
 stop the anger of the gods, then for a touch of devotion! and 
 if there be no way to get victuals ; rather than starve, let us 
 Read or Preach ! 
 
 In short, Sir, we are perfectly overstocked with Professors 
 of Divinity : there being scarce employment for half of those 
 who undertake that office. And unless we had some of the
 
 I' *.'] EXPORTATION OF DIVINES BY THE TON. 305 
 
 Romish tricks, to ramble up and down, and cry Pardons and 
 Indulgences ; or, for want of a living, have a good store of 
 clients in the business of Purgatory, or the like, and so make 
 such unrighteous gains of Religion : it were certainly much 
 better if many of them were otherwise determined. Or un- 
 less we have some vent [export] for our Learned Ones, beyond 
 the sea ; and could transport so many tons of Divines yearly, 
 as we do other commodities with which the nation is over- 
 stocked; we do certainly very unadvisedly, to breed up so many 
 to that Holy Calling, or to suffer so many to steal into Orders : 
 seeing there is not sufficient work and employment for them. 
 
 The next thing that does as much to heighten the misery of 
 our Church, as to the poverty of it, is the Gentry's designing, 
 not only the weak, the lame, and usually the most ill-favoured 
 of their children for the office of the Ministry; but also such as 
 they intend to settle nothing upon for their subsistence : 
 leaving them wholly to the bare hopes of Church preferment. 
 For, as they think, let the Thing look how it will, it is good 
 enough for the Church ! and that if it had but limbs enough 
 to climb the pulpit, and eyes enough to find the day of the 
 month, it will serve well enough to preach, and read Service ! 
 
 So, likewise, they think they have obliged the Clergy very 
 much, if they please to bestow two or three years' education 
 upon a younger son at the University : and then commend 
 him to the grace of GOD, and the favour of the Church ; 
 without one penny of money, or inch of land ! 
 
 You must not think, that he will spoil his eldest son's estate, or 
 hazard the lessening of the credit of the family, to do that which 
 may, any way, tend to the reputation and honour of the Clergy! 
 
 And thus it comes to pass, that you may commonly ride 
 ten miles, and scarce meet with a Divine that is worth 
 above two spoons and a pepper box, besides his living or 
 spiritual preferments. For, as for the Land, that goes 
 sweeping away with the eldest son, for the immortality of 
 the family ! and, as for the Money, that is usually employed 
 for to bind out [apprentice] and set up other children ! And 
 thus, you shall have them make no doubt of giving 500 or a 
 1,000 [=1,500 or 3,000 now] for a stock [capital] to them : 
 but for the poor Divinity son, if he gets but enough to buy 
 a broad hat at second-hand, and a small System of Faith or 
 two, that is counted stock sufficient for him to set up withal. 
 
 U 7
 
 306 BRICKLAYERS BETTER OFF THAN THE CLERGY. [ 
 
 And, possibly, he might make some kind of shift in this 
 world, if anybody will engage that he shall have, neither 
 wife nor children : but, if it so fall out, that he leaves the 
 world, and behind him either the one or the others : in what 
 a dismal condition are these likely to be ! and how will their 
 sad calamities reflect upon the Clergy ! So dismal a thing 
 is this commonly judged, that those that at their departure 
 out of this life, are piously and virtuously disposed, do 
 usually reckon the taking care for the relief of the poor Minis- 
 ters' widows, to be an opportunity of as necessary charity as 
 the mending the highways, and the erecting of hospitals. 
 
 But neither are spiritual preferments only scarce, by reason 
 of that great number that lie hovering over them ; and that 
 they that are thus on the wing, are usually destitute of any 
 other estate and livelihood : but also, when they come into 
 possession of them, they finding, for the most part, nothing 
 but a little sauce and Second Course (pigs, geese, and 
 apples), must needs be put upon great perplexities for the 
 standing necessaries of a family. 
 
 So that if it be inquired by any one, How comes it to pass, 
 that we have so many in Holy Orders that understand so 
 little, and are able to do so little service in the Church ? 
 if we may answer plainly and truly, we may say, " Because 
 they are fit for nothing else ! " 
 
 For, shall we think that any man that is not cursed to 
 uselessness, poverty, and misery, will be content with "20 or 
 30 a year ? For though, in the bulk, it looks, at first, like 
 a bountiful estate ; yet, if we think of it a little better, we shall 
 find that an ordinary bricklayer or carpenter (I mean not 
 your great undertakers [contractors] and master workmen) that 
 earns constantly but his two shillings a day, has clearly a 
 better revenue, and has certainly the command of more 
 money. For that the one has no dilapidations and the like, 
 to consume a great part of his weekly wages ; of which you 
 know how much the other is subject unto. 
 
 So that as long as we have so many small and contemp- 
 tible livings belonging to our Church, let the world do what 
 it can ! we must expect that they should be supplied by 
 very lamentable and unserviceable Things. For that nobody 
 else will meddle with them ! unless, one in an Age abounding 
 with money, charity, and goodness, will preach for nothing !
 
 8 A^g Ch i6 r 7 i] I T IS DESIGNED NOT TO SAVE MAYORS &C. ONLY. 307 
 
 For if men of knowledge, prudence, and wealth have a fancy 
 against a Living of 20 or 30 a year; there is no way to 
 get them into such an undertaking, but by sending out a 
 spiritual press {press gang] : for that very few volunteers that 
 are worth, unless better encouraged, will go into that Holy 
 Warfare ! but it will be left to those who cannot devise how 
 otherwise to live ! 
 
 Neither must people say that, " besides Bishoprics, Pre- 
 bendaries, and the like, we have several brave benefices, 
 suffice to invite those of the best parts, education, and dis- 
 cretion." For, imagine one Living in forty is worth 100 
 [=300 now] a year, and supplied by a man of skill and 
 wholesome counsel : what are the other thirty-nine the better 
 for that ? What are the people about Carlisle bettered by 
 his instructions and advice who lives at Dover ? It was 
 certainly our Saviour's mind, not only that the Gospel should 
 be preached to all nations at first ; but that the meaning and 
 power of it should be preserved, and constantly declared to 
 all people, by such as had judgement to do it. 
 
 Neither again must they say, that " Cities, Corporations, 
 and the great trading towns of this nation, which are the 
 strength and glory of it, and that contain the useful people 
 of the world, are usually instructed by very learned and 
 judicious persons." For, I suppose that our Saviour's design 
 was not that Mayors, Aldermen, and merchants should be 
 only saved : but also that all plain country people should 
 partake of the same means ; who (though they read not so 
 many Gazettes as citizens ; nor concern themselves where the 
 Turk or King of France [Louis XIV.] sets on next) yet the 
 true knowledge of GOD is now so plainly delivered in 
 Scripture, that there wants nothing but sober and prudent 
 Offerers of the same, to make it saving to those of the 
 meanest understandings. And therefore, in all parishes, if 
 possible, there ought to be such a fixed and settled provision 
 as might reasonably invite some careful and prudent person, 
 for the people's guide and instruction in holy matters. 
 
 And furthermore, it might be added, that the revenue 
 belonging to most of the Corporation Livings is no such 
 mighty business: for were it not for the uncertain and 
 humorsome contribution of the well-pleased parishioners, 
 the Parson and his family might be easily starved, for all the
 
 308 INDISPOSITION OF PEOPLE TO GO TO CHURCH. [ 
 
 lands and income that belong to the Church. Besides, the 
 great mischief that such kind of hired Preachers have done 
 in the World which I shall not stay here, to insist upon. 
 
 And as we have not churches enough, in respect of the 
 great multitude that are qualified for a Living : so, considering 
 the smallness of the revenue and the number of people that 
 are to be the hearers, it is very plain that we have too many. 
 
 And we shall, many times, find two churches in the same 
 yard, when as one would hold double the people of both the 
 parishes. If they were united for the encouragement of some 
 deserving person, he might easily make shift to spend, very 
 honestly and temperately, the revenue of both. 
 
 And what though churches stand at a little further 
 distance ? People may please to walk a mile, without 
 distemperating themselves ; when as they shall go three or 
 four to a market, to sell two pennyworth of eggs. 
 
 But suppose they resolved to pretend that they shall catch 
 cold (the clouds being more than ordinarily thick upon the 
 Sunday ; as they usually are, if there be religion in the case) ; 
 and that they are absolutely bent upon having instruction 
 brought to their own town, Why might not one sermon a 
 day, or (rather than fail) one in a fortnight, from a prudent 
 and well-esteemed-of Preacher, do as well as two a day from 
 him that talks, all the year long, nothing to the purpose ; 
 and thereupon is laughed at and despised ? 
 
 I know what people will presently say to this, viz., that 
 " if, upon Sunday, the Church doors be shut, the Alehouses 
 will be open ! and therefore, there must be somebody (though 
 never so weak and lamentable !) to pass away the time in the 
 Church, that the people may be kept sober and peaceable." 
 
 Truly, if religion and the worship of GOD consisted only 
 in negatives, and that the observation of the Sabbath, was 
 only not to be drunk ! then they speak much to the purpose : 
 but if it be otherwise, very little. It being not much unlike, 
 as it is the fashion in many places, to the sending of little 
 children of two or three years old to a School Dame, without 
 any design of learning one letter, but only to keep them out of 
 the fire and water. 
 
 Last of all, people must not say that "there needs no great 
 store of learning in a Minister ; and therefore a small Living 
 may answer his deserts : for that there be Homilies made on
 
 '.] ADVICE, NOT PREACHING, THE PARSON'S WORK. 309 
 
 purpose by the Church for young beginners and slow inventors. 
 Whereupon it is, that such difference is made between giving 
 Orders, and License to Preach : the latter being granted only 
 to such, as the Bishop shall judge able to make sermons." 
 
 But this does not seem to do the business. For though it 
 be not necessary for every Guide of a parish to understand 
 all the Oriental languages, or to make exactly elegant or 
 profound discourses for the Pulpit ; yet, most certainly, it is 
 very requisite that he should be so far learned and judicious 
 as prudently to advise, direct, inform, and satisfy the people 
 in holy matters; when they demand it, or beg it from him. 
 Which to perform readily and judiciously requires much 
 more discretion and skill, than, upon long deliberation, to 
 make a continued talk of an hour, without any great discern- 
 ible failings. So that were a Minister tied up, never to 
 speak one sentence of his own invention out of the pulpit in 
 his whole lifetime ; yet doubtless many other occasions there 
 be, for which neither wisdom nor reputation should be want- 
 ing in him that has the care and government of a parish. 
 
 I shall not here go about to please myself with the imagi- 
 nation of all the Great Tithes being restored to the Church ; 
 having little reason to hope to see such days of virtue. Nor 
 shall I here question the almightiness of former Kings and 
 Parliaments, nor dispute whether all the King HENRIES in 
 the world, with ever such a powerful Parliament, were able 
 to determine to any other use, what was once solemnly 
 dedicated to GOD, and His service. By yet, when we look 
 over the Prefaces to those Acts of Parliament whereby some 
 Church revenues were granted to HENRY VIII., one cannot 
 but be much taken with the ingenuity of that. Parliament ; 
 that when the King wanted a supply of money and an 
 augmentation to his revenue, how handsomely, out of the 
 Church they made provision for him, without doing them- 
 selves any injury at all ! 
 
 For, say they, seeing His Majesty is our joy and life; 
 seeing that he is so courageous and wise ; seeing that he is so very 
 tender of, and well affected to, all his subjects ; and that he has 
 been at such large expenses, for five and twenty whole years, 
 to defend and protect this his realm : therefore, in all duty and 
 gratitude, and as a manifest token of our unfeigned thankful- 
 ness, We do grant unto the king and his heirs for ever, &c.
 
 3io ROB THE BISHOPS TO HELP THE CLERGY ![|- A u| ch ,6 r 7 o. 
 
 It follows as closely as can be, that because the king has 
 been a good and deserving king, and had been at much 
 trouble and expense for the safety and honour of the nation, 
 that therefore all his wants shall be supplied out of the 
 Church ! as if all the charges that he had been at, were upon 
 the account only of his Ecclesiastical subjects, and not in 
 relation to the rest. 
 
 It is not, Sir, for you or I to guess, which way the whole 
 Clergy in general, might be better provided for. But, sure 
 it is, and must not be denied, that so long as many Livings 
 continue as they now are, thus impoverished; and that there be 
 so few encouragements for men of sobriety, wisdom, and learn- 
 ing : we have no reason to expect much better Instructors 
 and Governors of parishes, than at present we commonly find. 
 
 There is a way, I know, that some people love marvel- 
 lously to talk of; and that is a just and equal levelling of 
 Ecclesiastical preferments. 
 
 " What a delicate refreshment," say they, " would it be, 
 if 20,000 or 30,000 a year were taken from the Bishops, 
 and discreetly sprinkled amongst the poorer and meaner 
 sort of the Clergy ! how would it rejoice their hearts, and 
 encourage them in their Office ! What need those great and 
 sumptuous palaces, their city and their country houses, their 
 parks and spacious waters, their costly dishes and fashion- 
 able sauces? May not he that lives in a small thatched 
 house, that can scarcely walk four strides in his own ground, 
 that has only read well concerning venison, fish, and fowl: 
 may not he, I say, preach as loud and to as much purpose as 
 one of those high and mighty Spiritualists ? Go to, then ! 
 Seeing it hath pleased GOD to make such a bountiful pro- 
 vision for His Church in general, what need we be solicitous 
 about the emending the low condition of many of the Clergy, 
 when as there is such a plain remedy at hand, had we but 
 grace to apply it?" 
 
 This invention pleases some mainly well. But for all the 
 great care they pretend to have of the distressed part of the 
 Clergy, I am confident, one might easily guess what would 
 please them much better ! if (instead of augmenting small 
 benefices) the Bishops would be pleased to return to them, 
 those lands purchased in their absence [i.e., during the Com- 
 monwealth, which were restored to the Bishoprics at the Re-
 
 BELOVED ! THERE is LITTLE HOPE OF THAT 1311 
 
 storation] : and then, as for the relieving of the Clergy, they 
 would try if they could find out another way ! 
 
 But, art thou in good earnest ? my excellent Contriver ! 
 Dost thou think that if the greatest of our Church prefer- 
 ments were wisely parcelled out amongst those that are in 
 want, it would do such feats and courtesies ? And dost 
 thou not likewise think, that if ten or twenty of the lustiest 
 Noblemen's estates of England were cleverly sliced among 
 the indigent; would it not strangely refresh some of the 
 poor Laity that cry "Small Coal!" or grind scissors! 
 I do suppose if GOD should afterwards incline thy mind 
 (for I fancy it will not be as yet, a good while !) to be a 
 Benefactor to the Church ; thy wisdom may possibly direct 
 thee to disperse thy goodness in smaller parcels, rather than 
 to flow in upon two or three with full happiness. 
 
 But if it be my inclination to settle upon one Ecclesias- 
 tical person and his successors for ever, a - 1,000 a year 
 [=3,000 now] upon condition only to read the Service of the 
 Church once in a week ; and you take it ill, and find fault with 
 my prudence and the method of my munificence, and say that 
 "the stipend is much too large for such a small task": yet, 
 I am confident, that should I make thy Laityship heir of 
 such an estate, and oblige thee only to the trouble and 
 expense of spending a single chicken or half a dozen larks once 
 a year, in commemoration of me ; that thou wouldst count me 
 the wisest man that ever was, since the Creation ! and pray 
 to GOD never to dispose thy mind, to part with one farthing 
 of it for any other use, than for the service of thyself and thy 
 family. 
 
 And yet so it is, that, because the Bishops, upon their 
 first being restored [in 1660], had the confidence to levy 
 fines, according as they were justly due ; and desired to live 
 in their own houses, if not pulled down ! and to receive their 
 own rents: presently, they cry out, "The Churchmen have 
 got all the treasure and money of the nation into their hands." 
 
 If they have, let them thank GOD for it ! and make a good 
 use of it. Weep not, Beloved ! for there is very little hope 
 that they will cast it all into the sea, on purpose to stop the 
 mouths of them, that say " they have too much ! " 
 
 What other contrivances there may be, for the settling
 
 3 1 2 RIDICULOUS PREACHING MOVES TO ATHEISM. [J j 
 
 upon Ministers in general, a sufficient revenue for their sub- 
 sistence and encouragement in their office ; I shall leave to 
 be considered of, by the Governors of Learning and Religion. 
 
 Only thus much is certain, that so long as the main- 
 tenance of many Ministers is so very small, it is not to be 
 avoided, but that a great part of them will want learning, 
 prudence, courage, and esteem to do any good where they live. 
 
 And what if we have (as by all must be acknowledged) 
 as wise and learned Bishops as be in the world, and many 
 others of very great understanding and wisdom ; yet (as was 
 before hinted) unless there be provided for most towns and 
 parishes some tolerable and sufficient Guides, the strength of 
 Religion, and the credit of the Clergy will daily languish 
 more and more. 
 
 Not that it is to be believed that every small country 
 parish should be altogether hopeless as to the next life, 
 unless they have a HOOKER, a CHILLINGWORTH, a HAMMOND, 
 or a SANDERSON dwelling amongst them : but it is requisite, 
 and might be brought about, that somebody there should be, 
 to whom the people have reason to attend, and to be directed 
 and guided by him. 
 
 I have, Sir, no more to say, were it not that you find 
 the word Religion in the Title : of which in particular I have 
 spoken very little. Neither need I ! considering how nearly 
 it depends, as to its glory and strength, upon the reputation 
 and mouth of the Priest. 
 
 And I shall add no more but this, viz., that among those 
 many things that tend to the decay of Religion, and of a due 
 reverence of the Holy Scriptures, nothing has more occa- 
 sioned it than the ridiculous and idle discourses that are 
 uttered out of pulpits. For when the Gallants of the world 
 do observe how the Ministers themselves do jingle, quibble, 
 and play the fool with the Texts : no wonder, if they, who are 
 so inclinable to Atheism, do not only deride and despise the 
 Priests ; but droll upon the Bible ! and make a mock of all 
 that is sober and sacred ! 
 
 I am, Sir, Your most humble servant, 
 
 T. B. 
 
 August 8, 1670. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 313 
 
 ISAAC BICKERSTAFF 
 \i.e.^RicHARD STEELE~\. 
 
 The miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, 
 
 in 1710. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 [The Tatler. No. 255. Thursday, 23 Nov. 1710.] 
 
 To the Censor of Great Britain. 
 
 AM at present, under very great difficulties ; which 
 is not in the power of any one besides yourself, 
 to redress. Whether or not, you shall think it a 
 proper Case to come before your Court of Honour, 
 I cannot tell : but thus it is. 
 
 I am Chaplain to an honourable Family, very regular at the 
 Hours of Devotion, and I hope of an unblameable life : but, for 
 not offering to rise at the Second Course, I found my Patron and 
 his Lady very sullen and out of humour; though, at first, I did 
 not know the reason of it.
 
 314 A CHAPLAINCY LOST BY EATING JELLY. [ 23 iftv 5 '". 
 
 At length, when I happened to help myself to a jelly, the Lady 
 of the house, otherwise a devout woman, told me " It did not 
 become a Man of my Cloth, to delight in such frivolous food I " 
 But as I still continued to sit out the last course, I was yesterday 
 informed by the butler, that "His Lordship had no further 
 occasion for my service." 
 All which is humbly submitted to your consideration, by, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble servant, &c. 
 
 The case of this Gentleman deserves pity, especially if he 
 loves sweetmeats ; to which, if I may guess by his letter, 
 he is no enemy. 
 
 In the meantime, I have often wondered at the indecency 
 of discarding the holiest man from the table, as soon as the 
 most delicious parts of the entertainment are served up : 
 and could never conceive a reason for so absurd a custom. 
 
 Is it because a licorous palate, or a sweet tooth (as they 
 call it), is not consistent with the sanctity of his character? 
 
 This is but a trifling pretence ! No man of the most rigid 
 virtue, gives offence by any excesses in plum pudding or 
 plum porridge ; and that, because they are the first parts 
 of the dinner. Is there anything that tends to incitation 
 in sweetmeats, more than in ordinary dishes ? Certainly 
 not ! Sugar-plums are a very innocent diet ; and conserves 
 of a much colder nature than your common pickles. 
 
 I have sometimes thought that the Ceremony of the Chap- 
 lain flying away from the Dessert was typical and figurative. 
 To mark out to the company, how they ought to retire from 
 all the luscious baits of temptation, and deny their appetites 
 the gratifications that are most pleasing to them. 
 
 Or, at least, to signify that we ought to stint ourselves in 
 the most lawful satisfactions; and not make our Pleasure, 
 but our Support the end of eating. 
 
 But, most certainly, if such a lesson of temperance had been 
 necessary at a table : our Clergy would have recommended 
 it to all the Lay masters of families ; and not have disturbed
 
 .T^o-] STEELE'S BEAUTIFUL WAYOF PUTTING THINGS. 3 1 5 
 
 other men's tables with such unreasonable examples of 
 abstinence. 
 
 The original therefore of this barbarous custom, I take to 
 have been merely accidental. 
 
 The Chaplain retired, out of pure complaisance, to make 
 room for the removal of the dishes, or possibly for the 
 ranging of the dessert. This, by degrees, grew into a duty ; 
 till, at length, as the fashion improved, the good man found 
 himself cut off from the Third part of the entertainment : 
 and, if the arrogance of the Patron goes on, it is not impos- 
 sible but, in the next generation, he may see himself reduced 
 to the Tithe or Tenth Dish of the table. A sufficient caution 
 not to part with any privilege we are once possessed of ! 
 
 It was usual for the Priest, in old times, to feast upon 
 the sacrifice, nay the honey cake ; while the hungry Laity 
 looked upon him with great devotion : or, as the late Lord 
 ROCHESTER describes it in a very lively manner, 
 
 And while the Priest did eat, the People stared. 
 
 At present, the custom is inverted. The Laity feast 
 while the Priest stands by as an humble spectator. 
 
 This necessarily puts the good man upon making great 
 ravages on all the dishes that stand near him ; and upon 
 distinguishing himself by voraciousness of appetite, as know- 
 ing that " his time is short." 
 
 I would fain ask these stiff-necked Patrons, Whether they 
 would not take it ill of a Chaplain that, in his grace, after 
 meat, should return thanks for the whole entertainment, 
 with an exception to the dessert ? And yet I cannot but 
 think that in such a proceeding, he would but deal with 
 them as they deserved. 
 
 What would a Roman Catholic priest think (who is 
 always helped first, and placed next the ladies), should he 
 see a Clergyman giving his company the slip at the first 
 appearance of the tarts or sweetmeats ? Would he not
 
 316 THE PATRONS' INSOLENCE OF POWER. 
 
 R. Steele. 
 Nov. 1710. 
 
 believe that he had the same antipathy to a candid orange 
 or a piece of puff paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese 
 or a breast of mutton ? 
 
 Yet to so ridiculous a height is this foolish custom grown, 
 that even the Christmas Pie, which in its very nature is 
 a kind of consecrated cate and a badge of distinction, is 
 often forbidden to the Druid of the family. 
 
 Strange ! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, 
 when entire, is exposed to his utmost depredations and in- 
 cisions ; but if minced into small pieces and tossed up with 
 plums and sugar, it changes its property ; and, forsooth, it 
 is meat for his Master ! 
 
 In this Case, I know not which to censure [blame], the 
 Patron or the Chaplain ! the insolence of power, or the abject- 
 ness of dependence ! 
 
 For my own part, I have often blushed to see a Gentleman, 
 whom I knew to have more Wit and Learning than myself, 
 and who was bred up with me at the University upon the 
 same foot of a liberal education, treated in such an igno- 
 minious manner ; and sunk beneath those of his own rank, 
 by reason of that character which ought to bring him honour. 
 
 This deters men of generous minds from placing themselves 
 in such a station of life ; and by that means frequently ex- 
 cludes Persons of Quality from the improving and agreeable 
 conversation of a learned and obsequious friend. 
 
 Mr. OLDHAM lets us know that he was affrighted from the 
 thought of such an employment, by the scandalous sort of 
 treatment, which often accompanies it. 
 
 Some think themselves exalted to the sy, 
 // they light in some noble family : 
 Diet, a horse, and Thirty pounds a year ; 
 Besides W advantage of his Lordship's car, 
 The credit of the business, and the State ;
 
 J OLDHAM'S DESCRIPTION OF A CHAPLAIN. 317 
 
 Are things that in a youngster's sense sound great. 
 
 Little the unexperienced wretch does know, 
 
 What slavery he oft must undergo ! 
 
 Who, though in silken scarf and cassock drest, 
 
 Wears but a gayer livery, at best. 
 
 When dinner calls, the Implement must wait, 
 
 With holy words to consecrate the meat : 
 
 But hold it, for a favour seldom known, 
 
 If he be deigned the honour to sit down ! 
 
 Soon as the tarts appear, " Sir CRAPE, withdraw I 
 
 These dainties are not for a spiritual maw ! 
 
 Observe your distance I and be sure to stand 
 
 Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand ! 
 
 There, for diversion, you may pick your teeth 
 
 Till the kind Voider comes for your relief." 
 
 Let others who, such meannesses can brook, 
 Strike countenance to every Great Man's look : 
 I rate my freedom higher! 
 
 The author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does 
 not turn the Sacred Order into ridicule : but it is a just 
 censure on such persons as take advantages from the neces- 
 sities of a Man of Merit, to impose upon him hardships that 
 are by no means suitable to the dignity of his profession.
 
 NESTOR IRONSIDE 
 '.*., RICHARD STEELE~\. 
 
 Another description of the miseries of the 
 Domestic Chaplain^ in 1713, A.D. 
 
 [Tfu Guardian. No. 1/3. Thursday, 17 Sept. 1713.] 
 
 HEN I am disposed to give myself a day's 
 rest, I order the Lion to be opened [i.e., 
 a letter-box at BUTTON'S Coffee-house], and 
 search into that magazine of intelligence 
 for such letters as are to my purpose. 
 The first I looked into, comes to me 
 from one who is Chaplain to a great 
 family. 
 
 He treats himself, in the beginning of it, after such a manner 
 as I am persuaded no Man of Sense would treat him. Even 
 the Lawyer, and the Physician to a Man of Quality, expect 
 to be used like gentlemen ; and much more, may any one of 
 so superior a profession 1 
 
 I am by no means encouraging that dispute, Whether the 
 Chaplain, or the Master of the house be the better man, and 
 the more to be respected ? The two learned authors, Dr. HICKS
 
 SS:] CHAPLAIN, A FRIEND, GUIDE, & COMPANION. 319 
 
 and Mr. COLLIER (to whom I might add several others) are 
 to be excused, if they have carried the point a little too high 
 in favour of the Chaplain : since in so corrupt an Age as that 
 we live in, the popular opinion runs so far into the other 
 extreme. 
 
 The only controversy between the Patron and the Chaplain 
 ought to be, Which should promote the good designs and 
 interests of each other most ? And, for my own part, I think 
 it is the happiest circumstance in a great Estate or Title, that 
 it qualifies a man for choosing, out of such a learned and 
 valuable body of men as that of the English Clergy, a friend, 
 a spiritual guide, and a companion. 
 
 The letter which I Jiave received from one of this Order, is 
 as follows : 
 
 Mr. Guardian, 
 
 HOPE you will not only indulge me in the liberty of two 
 or three questions ; but also in the solution of them. 
 
 I have had the honour, many years, of being 
 Chaplain in a noble Family ; and of being accounted 
 the highest servant in the house : either out of respect to my 
 Cloth, or because I lie in the uppermost garret. 
 
 Whilst my old Lord lived, his table was always adorned with 
 useful Learning and innocent Mirth, as well as covered with 
 Plenty. I was not looked upon as a piece of furniture, fit only to 
 sanctify and garnish a feast; but treated as a Gentleman, and 
 generally desired to fill up the conversation, an hour after I had 
 done my duty [i.e., said grace after dinner]. 
 
 But now my young Lord is come to the Estate, I find I am 
 looked upon as a Censor Morum, an obstacle to mirth and talk : 
 and suffered to retire constantly with " Prosperity to the Church 1 " 
 in my mouth [i.e., after drinking this toast]. 
 
 / declare, solemnly, Sir, that I have heard nothing from all the 
 fine Gentlemen who visit us, more remarkable, for half a year, 
 than that one young Lord was seven times drunk at Genoa. 
 
 I have lately taken the liberty to stay three or four rounds [i.e.,
 
 320 A TYPE OF THE GEORGIAN NOBILITY. 
 
 of the bottle] beyond [the toast of] The Church ! to see what topics 
 of discourse they went upon : but, to my great surprise, have hardly 
 heard a word all the time, besides the Toasts. Then they all stared 
 full in my face, and shewed all the actions of uneasiness till I was 
 gone. 
 
 Immediately upon my departure, to use the words of an old 
 Comedy, " I find by the noise they make, that they had a mind to 
 be private." 
 
 I am at a loss to imagine what conversation they have among 
 one another, which I may not be present at : since I love innocent 
 Mirth as much as any of them ; and am shocked with no freedoms 
 whatsoever, which are inconsistent with Christianity. 
 
 I have, with much ado, maintained my post hitherto at the 
 dessert, and every day eat a tart in the face of my Patron : but 
 how long I shall be invested with this privilege, I do not know. 
 For the servants, who do not see me supported as I was in my 
 old Lord's time, begin to brush very familiarly by me : and they 
 thrust aside my chair, when they set the sweetmeats on the table. 
 
 I have been born and educated a Gentleman, and desire you will 
 make the public sensible that the Christian Priesthood was never 
 thought, in any Age or country, to debase the Man who is a member 
 of it. Among the great services which your useful Papers daily 
 do to Religion, this perhaps will not be the least : and it will lay a 
 very great obligation on 
 
 Your unknown servant, 
 
 G. W.
 
 321 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 
 
 CHARD improve d, 
 "Being an Almanac, &c. 9 for 
 the year of our Lord 1758. 
 
 RICHARD SAUNDERS. Philom. 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 COURTEOUS READER. 
 
 HAVE heard that nothing gives an author so great 
 pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted 
 by other learned authors. This pleasure I have 
 seldom enjoyed. For though I have been, if I 
 may say it without vanity, an eminent author of 
 
 X 1
 
 322 WE ARE TAXED BY IDLENESS AND FOLLY. [f ju," 1 
 
 Almanacs annually, now a full quarter of a century, my brother 
 authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have 
 ever been very sparing in their applauses; and no other 
 author has taken the least notice of me : so that did not my 
 writings produce me some solid Pudding, the great deficiency 
 of Praise would have quite discouraged me. 
 
 I concluded at length, that the people were the best 
 judges of my merit ; for they buy my works : and besides, in 
 my rambles, where I am not personally known, I have 
 frequently heard one or other of my Adages repeated, with 
 " as Poor RICHARD says ! " at the end of it. This gave me 
 some satisfaction, as it shewed, not only that my Instructions 
 were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my 
 Authority. And I own, that to encourage the practice of 
 remembering and repeating those wise Sentences : I have 
 sometimes quoted myself with great gravity. 
 
 Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an 
 incident I am going to relate to you ! 
 
 I stopped my horse lately, where a great number of people 
 were collected at a Vendue [sale] of Merchant's goods. The 
 hour of sale not being come, they were conversing on the 
 badness of the Times : and one of the company called to a 
 clean old man, with white locks, " Pray, Father ABRAHAM ! 
 what do you think of the Times ? Won't these heavy taxes 
 quite ruin the country ? How shall we be ever able to pay 
 them ? What would you advise us to? " 
 
 Father ABRAHAM stood up, and replied, " If you would 
 have my advice ; I will give it you, in short ; for a word to 
 the wise is enough, and many words won't fill a bushel, as 
 Poor RICHARD says." 
 
 They all joined, desiring him to speak his mind ; and 
 gathering round him, he proceeded as follows : 
 
 " Friends " says he, " and neighbours ! The taxes are 
 indeed very heavy ; and if those laid on by the Government 
 were the only ones we had to pay, we might the more easily 
 discharge them : but we have many others, and much more 
 grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our 
 IDLENESS, three times as much by our PRIDE, and four times 
 as much by our FOLLY: and from these taxes, the Com- 
 missioners cannot ease, or deliver us by allowing an abate- 
 ment. However let us hearken to good advice, and something
 
 THE MOST PRECIOUS OF ALL THINGS. 323 
 
 may be done for us. GOD helps them that help themselves, as 
 Poor RICHARD says in his Almanac of 1733. 
 
 It would be thought a hard Government that should tax 
 its people One-tenth part of their TIME, to be employed in 
 its service. But Idleness taxes many of us much more ; 
 if we reckon all that is spent in absolute sloth, or doing of 
 nothing; with that which is spent in idle employments or 
 amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing on 
 diseases, absolutely shortens life. Sloth, like Rust, consumes 
 faster than Labour wears ; while the used key is always bright, as 
 Poor RICHARD says. But dost thou love Life ? Then do not 
 squander time I for thafs the stuff Life is made of, as Poor 
 RICHARD says. 
 
 How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep ? 
 forgetting that the sleeping fox catches no poultry ; and that 
 there will be sleeping enough in the grave, as Poor RICHARD 
 says. If Time be of all things the most precious, Wasting of 
 Time must be (as Poor RICHARD says) the greatest prodigality 
 since, as he elsewhere tells us, Lost time is never found again; 
 and what we call Time enough ! always proves little enough. 
 Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose : so, 
 by diligence, shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth 
 makes all things difficult, but Industry all things easy, as Poor 
 RICHARD says : and He that riseth late, must trot all day ; and 
 shall scarce overtake his business at night. While Laziness 
 travels so slowly, that Poverty soon overtakes him, as we read in 
 Poor RICHARD ; who adds, Drive thy business ! Let not that 
 drive thee ! and 
 
 Early to bed, and early to rise, 
 
 Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. 
 
 So what signifies wishing and hoping for better Times ! We 
 may make these Times better, if we bestir ourselves ! Industry 
 need not wish ! as Poor RICHARD says ; and He that lives on 
 Hope, will die fasting. There are no gains without pains. 
 Then Help hands / for I have no lands ; or if I have, they are 
 smartly taxed. And as Poor RICHARD likewise observes, 
 He that hath a Trade, hath an Estate, and He that hath a Call- 
 ing, hath an Office of Pro/it and Honour : but, then, the Trade
 
 324 GOD GIVES ALL THINGS TO INDUSTRY. 
 
 must be worked at, and the Calling well followed, or neither 
 the Estate, nor the Office, will enable us to pay our taxes. 
 
 If we are industrious, we shall never starve, for, as Poor 
 RICHARD says, At the working man's house, Hunger looks in; 
 but dares not enter. Nor will the Bailiff, or the Constable 
 enter: for Industry pays debts, while Despair increaseth them, says 
 Poor RICHARD. 
 
 What though you have found no treasure, nor has any 
 rich relation left you a legacy, Diligence is the Mother of Good- 
 luck, as Poor RICHARD says; and GOD gives all things to 
 Industry. Then 
 
 Plough deep, while sluggards sleep ; 
 
 And you shall have corn to sell and to keep, 
 
 says Poor DlCK. Work while it is called to-day; for you 
 know not, how much you may be hindered to-morrow : which 
 makes Poor RICHARD say, One To-day is worth two To-morrows, 
 and farther, Have you somewhat to do to-morrow ? do it to-day 1 
 
 If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a 
 good master should catch you idle ? Are you then your own 
 Master ? Be ashamed to catch yourself idle ! as Poor DlCK says. 
 When there is so much to be done for yourself, your family, 
 your country, and your gracious King ; be up by peep of day ! 
 Let not the sun look down, and say, " Inglorious, here he lies !" 
 Handle your tools, without mittens ! Remember that The 
 cat in glove catches no mice ! as Poor RICHARD says. 
 
 Tis true there is much to be done ; and perhaps you are 
 weak handed ; but stick to it steadily ! and you will see great 
 effects, For Constant dropping wears away stones, and By dili- 
 gence and patience, the mouse ate in two the cable, and little 
 strokes fell great oaks ; as Poor RICHARD says in his Almanac, 
 the year I cannot, just now, remember. 
 
 Methinks, I hear some of you say, " Must a man afford 
 himself no leisure ? " 
 
 " I will tell thee, my friend ! what Poor RICHARD says. 
 
 Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure ! and 
 Since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour 1 
 
 Leisure is time for doing something useful. This leisure the
 
 A STEADY, SETTLED, CAREFUL INDUSTRY. 325 
 
 diligent man will obtain ; but the lazy man never. So that, 
 as Poor RiCHARD says, A life of leisure, and a life of laziness 
 are two things. Do you imagine that Sloth will afford you 
 more comfort than Labour ? No ! for as Poor RICHARD says, 
 Trouble springs from idleness, and grievous toil from needless ease. 
 Many without labour, would live by their Wits only ; but they'll 
 break, for want of Stock [i.e., Capital]. Whereas Industry 
 gives comfort, and plenty, and respect. Fly Pleasures ! and 
 they'll follow you! The diligent spinner has a large shift, and 
 
 Now I have a sheep and a cow 
 Everybody bids me " Good morrow." 
 
 All which is well said by Poor RICHARD. 
 
 But with our Industry ; we must likewise be Steady, 
 Settled, and Careful : and oversee our own affairs with our 
 own eyes, and not trust too much to others. For, as Poor 
 RICHARD says, 
 
 I never saw an oft removed tree, 
 
 Nor yet an oft removed family, 
 
 That throve so well, as those that settled be. 
 
 And again, Three Removes are as bad as a Fire ; and again 
 Keep thy shop I and thy shop will keep thee ! and again, // you 
 would have your business done, go ! if not, send I and again, 
 
 He that by the plough would thrive ; 
 Himself must either hold or drive. 
 
 And again, The Eye of the master will do more work than both 
 his Hands ; and again, Want of Care does us more damage than 
 Want of Knowledge ; and again, Not to oversee workmen, is to 
 leave them your purse open. 
 
 Trusting too much to others' care, is the ruin of many. 
 For, as the Almanac says, In the affairs of this world, men 
 are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it. But a man's own 
 care is profitable ; for, saith Poor DICK, Learning is to the 
 Studious, and Riches to the Careful ; as well as Power to the 
 Bold, and Heaven to the Virtuous. And further, If you would 
 have a faithful servant, and one that you like ; serve yourself ! 
 
 And again, he adviseth to circumspection and care, even in
 
 326 WE MUST ADD FRUGALITY TO INDUSTRY. 
 
 the smallest matters ; because sometimes, A little neglect may 
 breed great mischief: adding, For want of a nail, the shoe was 
 lost ; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; and for want of a 
 horse, the rider was lost; being overtaken, and slain by the 
 enemy. All for want of care about a horse-shoe nail. 
 
 So much for Industry, my friends ! and attention to one's 
 own business ; but to these we must add FRUGALITY, if we 
 would make our industry more certainly successful. A man 
 may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose, all 
 his life, to the grindstone ; and die not worth a groat at last. A 
 fat Kitchen makes a lean Will, as Poor RICHARD says, and 
 
 Many estates are spent in the getting, 
 
 Since women, for Tea, forsook spinning and knitting ; 
 
 And men, for Punch, forsook hewing and splitting. 
 
 If you would be healthy, says he in another Almanac, think 
 of Saving, as well as of Getting ! The Indies have not made Spain 
 rich ; because her Outgoes are greater than her Incomes. 
 
 Away, then, with your expensive follies ! and you will not 
 have so much cause to complain of hard Times, heavy taxes, 
 and chargeable families. For, as Poor DICK says, 
 
 Women and Wine, Game and Deceit, 
 
 Make the Wealth small, and the Wants great. 
 
 And farther, What maintains one vice, would bring up two children. 
 
 You may think perhaps, that, a little tea, or a little punch, 
 now and then ; diet, a little more costly ; clothes, a little 
 finer; and a little entertainment, now and then; can be no 
 great matter. But remember what Poor RICHARD says, 
 Many a Little makes a Mickle ; and farther, Beware of little ex- 
 penses ! a small leak will sink a great ship ; and again, Who 
 dainties love ; shall beggars Prove ! and moreover, Fools make 
 feasts, and wise men eat them. 
 
 Here are you all got together at this Vendue of Fineries 
 and knicknacks ! You call them Goods : but if you do not 
 take care, they will prove Evils to some of you ! You expect 
 they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may, for less than 
 they cost ; but if you have no occasion for them, they must 
 be dear to you ! Remember what Poor RICHARD says ! Buy
 
 j;] SILKS, &c., PUT OUT THE KITCHEN FIRE. 327 
 
 what thou hast no need of, and, ere long, thou shalt sell thy 
 necessaries ! And again, At a great pennyworth, pause a while I 
 He means, that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and 
 not real ; or the bargain by straitening thee in thy business, 
 may do thee more harm than good. For in another place, 
 he says, Many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths. 
 
 Again, Poor RICHARD says, 'Tis foolish, to lay out money in 
 a purchase of Repentance : and yet this folly is practised every 
 day at Vendues, for want of minding the Almanac. 
 
 Wise men, as Poor DICK says, learn by others' harms ; Fools, 
 scarcely by their own : but Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula 
 cautum. Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, 
 has gone with a hungry belly, and half starved their families. 
 Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets, as Poor RICHARD says, put 
 out the kitchen fire ! These are not the necessaries of life ; they 
 can scarcely be called the conveniences : and yet only because 
 they look pretty, how many want to have them ! The arti- 
 ficial wants of mankind thus become more numerous than the 
 natural ; and as Poor DICK says, For one poor person, there are 
 a hundred indigent. 
 
 By these, and other extravagances, the genteel are reduced 
 to poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly 
 despised; but who, through Industry and Frugality, have 
 maintained their standing. In which case, it appears plainly 
 that A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his 
 knees, as Poor RICHARD says. Perhaps they have had a small 
 estate left them, which they knew not the getting of. They 
 think 'tis day ! and will never be night ! ; that a little to be spent 
 out of so much ! is not worth minding (A Child and a Fool, as Poor 
 RICHARD says, imagine Twenty Shillings and Twenty Years can 
 never be spent) : but always taking out of the meal tub, and never 
 putting in, soon comes to the bottom. Then, as Poor DICK says, 
 When the well's dry, they know the worth of water I but this they 
 might have known before, if they had taken his advice. // 
 you would know the value of money ; go, and try to borrow some ! 
 For, he that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing ! and indeed, so 
 does he that lends to such people, when he goes to get it in 
 again 1 
 
 Poor DiCK further advises, and says 
 
 Fond Pride of Dress is, sure, a very curse ! 
 Ere Fancy you consult ; consult your purse !
 
 328 PRIDE WITH PLENTY, POVERTY, INFAMY. 
 
 And again, Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal 
 more saucy I When you have bought one fine thing, you must 
 buy ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece ; but 
 Poor DlCK says, 'Tis easier to suppress the First desire, than to 
 satisfy A II that follow it. And 'tis as truly folly, for the poor to 
 ape the rich ; as for the frog to swell, in order to equal the ox. 
 
 Great Estates may venture more ; 
 But little boats should keep near shore I 
 
 'Tis, however, a folly soon punished ! for Pride that dines 
 on Vanity, sups on Contempt, as Poor RICHARD says. And in 
 another place, Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, 
 and supped with Infamy. 
 
 And, after all, of what use is this Pride of Appearance ? for 
 which so much is risked, so much is suffered ! It cannot 
 promote health or ease pain ! It makes no increase of merit 
 in the person 1 It creates envy ! It hastens misfortune 1 
 
 What is a butterfly ? At best 
 He's but a caterpillar drest I 
 The gaudy fop's his picture just. 
 
 as Poor RICHARD says. 
 
 But what madness must it be, to run into debt for these 
 superfluities ? 
 
 We are offered, by the terms of this Vendue, Six Months' 
 Credit ; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to attend 
 it, because we cannot spare the ready money, and hope now 
 to be fine without it. But, ah, think what you do, when you 
 run in debt ? You give to another, power over your liberty ! If 
 you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your 
 creditor ! You will be in fear, when you speak to him 1 You 
 will make poor pitiful sneaking excuses ! and, by degrees, 
 come to lose your veracity, and sink into base downright 
 lying ! For, as Poor RICHARD says, The second vice is Lying, 
 the first is Running into Debt : and again, to the same purpose, 
 Lying rides upon Debt's back. Whereas a free born English- 
 man ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see, or speak to 
 any man living. But Poverty often deprives a man of all 
 spirit and virtue. 'Tis hard for an Empty Bag to stand upright I 
 as Poor RICHARD truly says. What would you think of that 
 Prince, or the Government, who should issue an Edict for-
 
 FOR AGE AND WANT, SAVE WHILE YOU MAY 1329 
 
 bidding you to dress like a Gentleman or Gentlewoman, on 
 pain of imprisonment or servitude. Would you not say that 
 " You are free 1 have a right to dress as you please ! and that 
 such an Edict would be a breach of your privileges ! and such 
 a Government, tyrannical ! " And yet you are about to put 
 yourself under that tyranny, when you run in debt for such 
 dress! Your creditor has authority, at his pleasure, to 
 deprive you of your liberty, by confining you in gaol for life ! 
 or to sell you for a servant, if you should not be able to pay 
 him ! When you have got your bargain ; you may, perhaps, 
 think little of payment, but Creditors (Poor RICHARD tells.us) 
 have better memories than Debtors ; and, in another place, says, 
 Creditors are a superstitious sect ! great observers of set days and 
 times. The day comes round, before you are aware ; and the 
 demand is made, before you are prepared to satisfy it : or, if 
 you bear your debt in mind, the term which, at first, seemed 
 so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. TIME 
 will seem to have added wings to his heels, as well as 
 shoulders. Those have a short Lent, saith Poor RICHARD, who 
 owe money to be paid at Easter. Then since, as he says, The 
 Borrower is a slave to the Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor ; 
 disdain the chain ! preserve your freedom ! and maintain 
 your independency ! Be industrious and free ! be frugal and 
 free I At present, perhaps, you may think yourself in thriving 
 circumstances ; and that you can bear a little extravagance 
 without injury : but 
 
 For Age and Want, save while you may I 
 No morning sun lasts a whole day, 
 
 as Poor RICHARD says. 
 
 Gain may be temporary and uncertain ; but, ever while you 
 live, Expense is constant and certain : and 'tis easier to build 
 two chimneys than to keep one in fuel, as Poor RICHARD says. 
 So rather go to bed supperless, than rise in debt ! 
 
 Get what you can I and what you get, hold I 
 
 'Tis the Stone that will turn all your lead into gold ! 
 
 as Poor RICHARD says. And when you have got the Philo- 
 sopher's Stone, sure, you will no longer complain of bad times, 
 or the difficulty of paying taxes.
 
 330 HUMBLY ASK FOR THE BLESSING OF GOD ! [y'ju^: 
 
 This doctrine, my friends ! is Reason and Wisdom ! But, 
 after all, do not depend too much upon your own Industry, and 
 Frugality, and Prudence ; though excellent things ! For 
 they may all be blasted without the Blessing of Heaven : and, 
 therefore, ask that Blessing humbly ! and be not uncharitable 
 to those that at present, seem to want it ; but comfort and 
 help them ! Remember, JOB suffered, and was afterwards 
 prosperous. 
 
 And now to conclude. Experience keeps a dear school ; but 
 Fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that I for it is true, 
 We may give Advice, but we cannot give Conduct, as Poor 
 RICHARD says. However, remember this ! They that won't 
 be counselled, can't be helped I as Poor RICHARD says : and 
 farther, that, // you will not hear reason, she'll surely rap your 
 knuckles I " 
 
 Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people 
 heard it, and approved the doctrine ; and immediately prac- 
 tised the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon ! 
 For the Vendue opened, and they began to buy extravagantly ; 
 notwithstanding all his cautions, and their own fear of taxes. 
 
 I found the good man had thoroughly studied my Almanacs, 
 and digested all I had dropped on those topics during the 
 course of five and twenty years. The frequent mention he 
 made of me, must have tired any one else ; but my vanity 
 was wonderfully delighted with it : though I was conscious 
 that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own, which he 
 ascribed to me ; but rather the gleanings I had made of the 
 Sense of all Ages and Nations. However, I resolved to be 
 the better for the Echo of it ; and though I had, at first, de- 
 termined to buy stuff for a new coat ; I went away resolved 
 to wear my old one a little longer. Reader ! if thou wilt do 
 the same, thy profit will be as great as mine. 
 I am, as ever, 
 
 Thine, to serve thee ! 
 
 July 7, 1757. RICHARD SAUNDBRS.
 
 INDEX 
 
 ABRAHAM, 285. 
 
 Absalom, Watson's, 18. 
 
 Accius, 13, 15. 
 
 Account of the Greatest English Poets, 
 213. 
 
 Account of the Proceedings of I. Bicker- 
 staff against Me, N.Rowe, 187-193. 
 
 Achseus Erithrioeus, 15. 
 
 Achilles, 12, 19, 21, 41, 248. 
 
 Act of Banishment, 143, 147. 
 
 Actseon, 19. 
 
 Adagia Latino -Anglica, Clerk's, xlviii. 
 
 Adam, 279. 
 
 Addison, Dean, 234. 
 
 Joseph, viii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, 
 
 xxxvii, xxxviii, 207, 211, 225, 226, 
 227, 228, 229, 234, 240; and the 
 Whig Examiner, xxxiii ; Chief Sec- 
 retary in Ireland, xxxvi ; Secretary 
 of State, xxxvi ; Tickell's Life of, 
 
 2II-22O. 
 
 Lancelot, 211. 
 
 Adelphi, Terence's, 60. 
 
 Advice to an Author, Shaftesbury's, 
 
 xxiii. 
 Advice to a Young Reviewer, Cople- 
 
 ston's, xxi, 150-158. 
 ./Eneas, n, 19, 65. 
 ALneid, Virgil's, xxi, 1 8, 62. Lord 
 
 Surrey's, 27. 
 
 ^Eschylus, xxiii, n, 15, 50, 61. 
 jEson, 32. 
 yEthra, 59. 
 
 Affaniae, FitzGeoffrey's, xv. 
 Affranius, 54. 
 Ajax Telamon, 125. 
 Albion's England, 13, 
 Albumazar, Jonson's, xxvii. 
 Alchemist, Jonson's, 77, 80, 88, 119. 
 Aleppo, 268. 
 
 Alexander yEtolus, 15, 20. 
 Alexis Ferius, 15. 
 Allegories, Spenser's, 370. 
 
 AlTt Well that Ends Well, xvi, 14. 
 Almanack, Franklin's, xlviii, xlix, 321- 
 
 329. 
 Partridge's, 170, 178, 180, 193, 
 
 196, 200. 
 
 Almanza, battle of, 171. 
 Amadis de Gaul, 22. 
 Ambrosebury, 211. 
 Amersham, Ellwood lived at, xxvi, 
 
 144. 
 
 Aminte Gaudia, 16. 
 Amipsias Atheniensis, 15. 
 Amphion, 21. 
 An Answer to a Letter of Enquiry, by 
 
 Eachard, xlii. 
 Anacreon, 15, 19. 
 Anaxandrides Rhodeus, 15. 
 Andreas Alciatus, 18. 
 Andromede, 81. 
 Ane Short Treatise conteining some 
 
 rewles and cautelis to be observit, by 
 
 James I., xii. 
 
 Angel, the, in Cornhill, 241. 
 Anglise Notitia, viii, xl. 
 Anjou, Duke of, xi, 173. 
 Anne, queen, vii, xxvii, 177. 
 Annus Mirabilis, Dryden's, xix, 
 Antigone, Watson's, 18. 
 Antipater, Sidonius, 17, 18. 
 Antiphilus, 20. 
 Antipho, 60. 
 Antonius, 18. 
 Apelles, 20. 
 Apocrypha, The, 303. 
 Apollo, 19, 24. 
 Apollo Anglicanus, xliv. 
 Apollodorus, 18. 
 
 Atheniensis, 20. 
 
 Tarsensis, 15- 
 
 Apologiefor Poetry, Harington's, xii. 
 Aquilius, 18. 
 Aratus, 18. 
 Arber, Prof., xlix. 
 
 3U
 
 332 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Arcadia, Sidney's, xi, 12. 
 
 Archesilaus Prytanoeus, 19. 
 
 Archilochus Par i us, 16. 
 
 Archippus Atheniensis, 15. 
 
 Arete, 12. 
 
 Ariadne, 12, 183. 
 
 Aries, 272. 
 
 Arion, 21. 
 
 Ariosto, 14. 
 
 Aristides, Thebanus, 20. 
 
 Aristonus, 21. 
 
 Aristonymus, 15. 
 
 Aristophanes, n, 15, 50, 54, 61, 
 
 89. 
 Aristotle, 18, 21, 49, 51, 56, 57, 59, 
 
 66, 95, 97, *>, 103, "6, "S, I28 
 
 134- 
 
 Arnolde, 20. 
 Art of Cookery, xxxi. 
 
 of English Poesie, xi, xii. 
 
 of Love, xxxi. 
 
 of Rhetoric, Wilson's, vii, viii, ix. 
 
 Arthur of the Round Table, 22. 
 Artillery Walk, Milton settles in, xxv. 
 Ascham, Roger, x ; Thomas Wilson, 
 
 pupil of, ix. 
 Astrological Impostor convicted (Bicker- 
 
 staffe), 185, 1 86. 
 Asturias, Prince of, 173. 
 Astyanax, 61. 
 
 Astydamas Atheniensis, 15. 
 Atalantis, xxxiv. 
 Atchdow, Thomas, 14. 
 Athens, 19. 
 Atreus, 32. 
 
 Atterbury, Dr., xxxii, 205. 
 Atticus, 41. 
 Augustus, emperor, xiv, II, 17, 24, 6l, 
 
 176. 
 
 Aulus Parcius Flaccus, 13. 
 Aurora, 162. 
 Ausonius, II, 18. 
 Aylesbury, 144, 147. 
 
 BABINGTON, Churchill, xliii, xliv. 
 
 Bacon, Lord, 153. 
 
 Baker, John, xxxiv ; his opinion of 
 
 Eachard, xli. 
 Thomas, editor of the Female 
 
 Toiler, xxxv. 
 Barak, 278. 
 Barclay, 27. 
 Barnaby Bright, 260. 
 Barnfield, Richard, 16, 17. 
 Bamstaple, Gay born there, xxx. 
 
 Bartholomew Fair, 77, 92. 
 
 Sassaniui and Gata, 69. 
 
 Bastard, 16. 
 
 Battle of Books, Swift's, xxvii 
 
 Baxter's Life, xliv. 
 
 Beaumont, 34, 66, 86. 
 
 Bemba, Cardinal, 17. 
 
 Bennet, Ambrose, Justice, 143, 144. 
 
 Bentley, 195. 
 
 Berkshire, Thomas Howard, Earl of, 
 
 xviii. 
 
 Betterton, 52. 
 Bettes, John, 20. 
 
 Thomas, 20. 
 
 Bevis of Hampton, 22. 
 
 Beza, 17. 
 
 Bible, The, 278, 279, 288, 318. 
 
 the Geneva, 290. 
 
 Biblis, 64. 
 
 Bickerstaff, Isaac, xxviii, xxxiii, xxxiv, 
 
 xxxv, 167-181, 185-200, 204, 205, 
 
 206, 208, 209, 313-320. 
 Biena, Cardinal, 17. 
 Birch, Nathaniel, 145. 
 Birkenhead, Sir John, 125. 
 Black Knight, the, 22. 
 
 Prince, the, xviii. 
 
 Blanchardine, 22. 
 
 Blankes, 21. 
 
 Blithman, 21. 
 
 Boccaccio, 14. 
 
 Boden, 6. 
 
 Bodenham, John, xiii. 
 
 Boetius, 21. 
 
 Boileau, Monsieur, 212. 
 
 Bolingbroke, xzxii. 
 
 Bonstetten, his attraction for Gray, 
 
 xxiv. 
 
 Boswell, xvi. 
 
 Botolf Lane, Meres lived in, xv. 
 Boyle, Roger, xviii, 195. 
 Bradley, Richard, 141. 
 Brandon, Charles, ix. 
 
 Henry, ix. 
 
 Bray, Jacques de, 20. 
 
 Breton, 15, 16. 
 
 Bridewell, Yalden, preacher of, xxix. 
 
 Bristol, 211. 
 
 British Apollo, xxxv, 210. 
 
 Critic, xxii. 
 
 Brixius, Germanus, n. 
 Broghill, Baron, xviii. 
 Brooke, N., 241. 
 Brunswerd, John, II. 
 Bryan, Sir Francis, 16.
 
 INDEX 
 
 333 
 
 Buchananus, Georgius, 17. 
 Buckhurst, Lord, xx, 15, 26, 39-41, 44, 
 
 93. 127. 
 Bularchus, 2O. 
 Bull, Doctor, 21. 
 Bunhill Fields, xxv. 
 Bunyan, John, 141. 
 Burble, Cuthbert, xiii. 
 Burgundy, Duke of, 175. 
 Burke, 158. 
 Burnet, xliv. 
 
 Burrough, Edward, xxiv. 
 Butler, x. 
 
 Button's Coffee House, 318. 
 Byrd, 21. 
 
 CADMUS, 32. 
 
 Caesar, 12, 41, 267. 
 
 Calderon, 69. 
 
 Callias Atheniensis, 15. 
 
 Callimachus, 15. 
 
 Cambridge, viii. 
 
 Campaign, The, Addison's, 215. 
 
 Campion, Thos., xvi, n. 
 
 Canthara, 60. 
 
 Capulets, 67. 
 
 Cariclea, 12. 
 
 Carlisle, 307. 
 
 Carr, Nicholas, II. 
 
 Carter, 290. 
 
 Caryl, Joseph, 290. 
 
 Case, Doctor, 18, 178. 
 
 Cassandra, 61. 
 
 Cassius Severus, 16. 
 
 Castle of Fame, 22. 
 
 Castor, 199. 
 
 Cataline, 70, 81, 84, 87, 119, 133. 
 
 Cato, 41, 217, 236, 267. 
 
 Catullus, 12, 1 6, 235. 
 
 Caunus, 64. 
 
 Celiano, 14. 
 
 Censor of Great Britain, BickerstafFs 
 letter to, 313. 
 
 Cerberus, 159. 
 
 Certayne Notes of Instruction concern- 
 ing the makyng of Verse in Rhyme, 
 xii. 
 
 Chseronea, xxv. 
 
 Chaldeans, 21. 
 
 Chalfont, Milton at, xxvi. 
 
 St. Giles, xxvii, 147. 
 
 St. Peter, 147. 
 
 Challoner, Master, 16. 
 
 Chamberlayne, Edward, viii, xxix, xl, 
 xliii, 239-240 ; his publications, xl ; 
 
 secretary to the Earl of Carlisle, xl ; 
 instructor to Prince George of Den- 
 mark, xl; Fellow of the Royal 
 Society, xl. 
 
 Chamillard, 175. 
 
 Chapman, George, xiii, 12, 14, 15, 16, 
 18. 
 
 Charles I., 86. 
 
 II., 40. 
 
 Charleton Park, Dryden writes Essay 
 of Dramatic Poesie there, xx. 
 
 Chartreuse (Charterhouse School, Lon- 
 don), 211. 
 
 Chaucer, xxvii, 10. 
 
 Cheke, Sir John, Thomas Wilson, 
 pupil of, ix. 
 
 Chelsea, Chamberlayne dies at, xl. 
 
 Chester, Copleston, Dean of, xxii. 
 
 Earl of, xl. 
 
 Chettle, Henry, 16. 
 
 Chillingworth, 312. 
 
 Chiron, 21. 
 
 Choerea, 53. 
 
 Chremes, 53. 
 
 Christian Religion, Addison's, 219. 
 
 Chrysogonus, 21. 
 
 Churchyard, 16. 
 
 Cicero, xxi, 12, 18, 19, 21. 
 
 Cider, Phillip's, xxxi. 
 
 Cinna, 46, 79. 
 
 Civil War, the, Chamberlayne and, xl ; 
 Howard distinguishes himself in, 
 xviii. 
 
 Clark's edition of Wood's Life and 
 Times, xiii. 
 
 Clarke, Samuel, 290. 
 
 Claudian, 29. 
 
 Claudianus, n. 
 
 Claudius Caesar, 54. 
 
 Cleonoeus, Cimon, 20. 
 
 Clere, Monsieur le, 195. 
 
 Clerk's collections, xlviii. 
 
 Cleveland, 62, 63. 
 
 Clinias, 21. 
 
 Clodius Sabinus, 16. 
 
 Cnceus Getulicus, 16. 
 
 Cocker, 166. 
 
 Coecilius, 54. 
 
 Cokes, 92. 
 
 Cole, Peter, 20. 
 
 Collection of English Proverbs, Ray's, 
 xlviii. 
 
 Collegiate Ladies, 92. 
 
 Collier, Jeremy, xlv. 
 
 3I9-
 
 334 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Collins, Arthur, xi. 
 
 Combe, Thomas, 18. 
 
 Comedy of Errors, 14. 
 
 Comedy of Rome, xxvii. 
 
 Commenius, 249. 
 
 Committee, The, by Howard, xviii. 
 
 Concerning that Universal Hatred 
 
 against the Clergy : A Study by 
 
 Eachard, xlvi. 
 
 Concordances, the misuse of, 286. 
 Congreve, William, viii, xxix, xxxiv, 
 
 225, 231. 
 
 Contempt of the Clergy, xlv, xlvi. 
 Cooper, 21. 
 Cooper's Hill, 28. 
 Copleston, Bishop, vii, xxi, 149-166 ; 
 
 Professor of Poetry, xxi ; Provost of 
 
 Oriel, xxii ; his university reforms, 
 
 xxii. 
 
 W. J., his Life of Bishop Cople- 
 ston, xxii. 
 Corneille, 53, 54, 66, 70, 72, 75, 81, 
 
 82, 83, 84, 91, 97, 125, 128, 132. 
 
 the younger, 76. 
 
 Cornelius, painter, 20. 
 
 Plinius, 1 8. 
 
 Cornificius, Quintus, 16. 
 
 Corpus Christi College, Page, Fellow 
 
 of, 16 ; Copleston a scholar at, xxi. 
 Corusodes in Swift's Essay on the Fates 
 
 of Clergymen, xliii. 
 Cotgrave, 45. 
 
 Country Parson, Herbert's, xli. 
 Coventry, Archdeacon of, 211. 
 Cowley, xxi, 48. 
 Craggs, J. , 220. 
 Crape, Sir, 317. 
 Creetes, John de, 20. 
 Cremes, 60. 
 Crison, Claudia, 8. 
 Crites, Howard introduced as in Essay 
 
 of Dramatic Poesie, xix, 43-49, 55, 
 
 56, 61, 65, 66, 93, 97, 104, 105, 
 
 106, 108. 
 Cromwell, 93. 
 Crowell, Ell wood born there, xxiv, 
 
 136. 
 
 Cure, 2O. 
 Curio, 70. 
 
 Curious Amusements, Gay's, xxxv. 
 Cutallus, 15. 
 Cyrus, 12, 68. 
 
 DALLIS, Doctor, 21. 
 Daniel, xiii, xvi, 12, 15, 16. 
 
 Dante, xxv, 14. 
 
 Dauphine, 88, 91, 173. 
 
 D'Avenant, Sir William, 28, 52. 
 
 Davies, 16. 
 
 Daw, 92. 
 
 De Foe, xxxii, xliv, 204. 
 
 De incendio Troja cum Priami cal- 
 amilate, 15. 
 
 Deborah, 278. 
 
 Decius Ausonius Gall us, 13. 
 
 Decker, 15. 
 
 Dedicatory Epistle to the Rival Ladies, 
 vii, xvi, xvii. 
 
 Dedicatory Epistle to William Con- 
 greve, Steele's, 225-238. 
 
 Defence of Dramatit Poesy, Dryden's, 
 xi, xii, xiv, xvii, xix, 28. 
 
 Delia, 12. 
 
 Dell, Thomas, 143. 
 
 Demea, 60. 
 
 Democritus, 164. 
 
 Demodochus, 21. 
 
 Demosthenes, xxv, 21 ; Wilson's trans- 
 lation of, ix. 
 
 Denham, Sir John, 28, 48 ; his version 
 of Virgil's second &neid, xxL 
 
 Denmark, Prince George of, Chamber- 
 layne, instructor to, xl. 
 
 Description of the Thermometer, 228. 
 
 Destruction of Jerusalem, 15. 
 
 Deuteronomy, 286. 
 
 Devastation of Pepper, Frederigo's, 
 xlii. 
 
 Dialogues upon Medals, 215, 219. 
 
 Diary, Pepys', xliv. 
 
 and Letters of Madame D'Ar- 
 
 blay, 90. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, xxviii. 
 
 Dictionary of National Biography, 
 
 xlix. 
 
 Dido, 12. 
 Diego, 77, 83. 
 Digressions concerning Critics, Swift's, 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 Diodorus Siculus, 6. 
 Diogenes, 19. 
 Dion Nicaus, 8. 
 Discourse of English Poesie, Webbe's, 
 
 xii, xiv. 
 
 of the English Stage, Fleck- 
 
 noe's. 
 
 on Poetry, Meres's, xv, xvi. 
 
 Discoveries, Johnson's, xi, 53, 88, 
 
 8l. 
 Dispensary, Garth's, xxxiv.
 
 INDEX 
 
 335 
 
 'Distaff,' Mrs. Jenny, half-sister to 
 Bickerstaff, xxxv. 
 
 Distress of the News Writers, 228. 
 
 Dod, John, 290. 
 
 Donne, Doctor, 63. 
 
 Dorant, 76. 
 
 Dorceus, 21. 
 
 Dorias, 60. 
 
 Dorset, Lord, 26, 27. 
 
 Dove, 198. 
 
 Dowland, 21. 
 
 Dragon, the, xlii. 
 
 Drake, Sir Charles Fitz-Geoffrey's, 12. 
 
 Sir Francis, 9, 18. 
 
 Drant, 16. 
 
 Drayton, Michael, xiii, xvi, II, 12, 13, 
 14, 15, 16. 
 
 Drummer, Addison's, viii, xxxvi, 
 xxxvii, 225, 226, 227, 235, 237. 
 
 Dryden, xvi, xviii, xix, xx, xxiii, 114, 
 212, 231, 232 ; his acquaintance 
 with Howard, xviii ; his Dedicatory 
 Epistle to the Rival Ladies, 23-29 ; 
 his Essay of Dramatic Poesy, 39-108 ; 
 his defence of same, 115-134; his 
 request to Milton to turn Paradise 
 Lost into an opera, xxvi ; his style, 
 xxi ; in the person of Neander, xix. 
 
 Dublin edition of Swift's works, xxix. 
 
 Dr. King, Archbishop of, xxxi. 
 
 Dudley, John, Earl of Warwick, viii. 
 
 Duke of Lerma, xix, no, 115, 116, 
 
 132, 134- 
 
 Dunciad, OxelFs, xxxii. 
 Durham, 240 ; the bishopric of, 239. 
 Dyer, Sir Edward, 16. 
 
 EACHARD, John, viii, xl, xliii, xliv, xiv, 
 xlvi ; Swift's observations regarding, 
 xli ; Contempt of the Clergy enquired 
 into, 241-312. 
 
 Eclogues, Virgil's, 12. 
 
 Edes, Doctor, 15. 
 
 Edgehill, 269. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, vii, xxii. 
 
 Edward II., 12. 
 
 iv., II. 
 
 Earl of Oxford, 15. 
 
 Edwardes, 15. 
 
 Egypt, 21. 
 
 Elegy, Bickerstaff s, 189. 
 
 on the Death of Mr. Addison, 
 
 Tickell's, 221. 
 
 on Mr. Partridge, 181-184. 
 
 Elijah, 278. 
 
 Eliza, 12. 
 
 Elizabeth, queen, xiv, 13, 17, 59, 240; 
 dissuaded by Leicester from marrying 
 the Duke of Anjou, xi. 
 
 'Elizabethan Boswell,' Meres referred 
 to as, xvi. 
 
 literary criticism, vii. 
 
 Ellwood, Thomas, vii, xxiii, ixiv, 
 xxv, xxvi ; his edition of Fox's Jour- 
 nal, xxvi ; his relations with Milton, 
 xiv, 135-148. 
 
 Ely, Bishop of, 276. 
 
 Elyot, ix. 
 
 Emmanuel College, 16. 
 
 ' England's Helicon,' xiii. 
 
 Heroical Epistles, II, 12. 
 
 English Drama, exalted by Howard, 
 
 xix. 
 
 Ennius, 10. 
 Epaminondas, 21. 
 Epicures and Atheists, 19. 
 Epigrams, Ausonius', 18. 
 Epistle to his Fair Geraldine, II. 
 Epistles, Ovid's, 18. 
 Esau, 272. 
 
 Esquire's Lucubrations, 206, 208, 209. 
 Essay of Dramatic Poesy, Dryden's, 
 
 vii, xvi, xvii, xix, xx, xxi, xxiii, in, 
 
 113, 117, 122; Dryden's defence of, 
 
 115-131. 
 Essay on the Fates of Clergymen, Swift's, 
 
 xliii, xlvi. 
 
 Essay upon the Georgics, 212. 
 Ethiopia, 20. 
 Eton, viii. 
 Euclid, 21. 
 
 Eugene, Prince, 171, 215. 
 Eugenic in Swift's Essay on the Fates 
 
 of Clergymen, xliii. 
 Eugenius, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 51, 
 
 55, 64, 65, 66, 78, 85, 108. 
 Eumarus, 20. 
 Eumonius, 21. 
 
 Eunuch, Terence's, 53, 59, 60, 6l, 74. 
 Euphorbus, 13. 
 Euphrosyne, 160. 
 Euphues, Lyly's, xiii. 
 Eupolis Atheniensis, 15, 19. 
 Euripides, n, 13, 15, 18, 50, 54, 59, 
 
 61. 
 
 Eurydice, 12, 166. 
 Eustachius, 253. 
 Eveleigh, Dr., succeeded by Copleston 
 
 as Provost of Oriel, xxii. 
 Every Man in his Humour, 86.
 
 336 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Examiner, the, xxxv, 204 ; opposed by 
 the Whig Examiner, xxxiii ; Dr. King 
 and, zxxi ; first appearance of, xxxii. 
 
 FAIRFAX, 21. 
 
 Fairy Queen, 12. 
 
 Faithful Shepherdess, 84, 101. 
 
 Falstaff, 89. 
 
 Female Toiler, xxxiv, xxxv. 
 
 Ferrex and Porrex, 26. 
 
 Ferris, Edward, 15. 
 
 Fitz-Geoffrey, Charles, 12, 18 ; his 
 poem addressed to Meres, xv. 
 
 Fitzroy, Henry, Chamberlayne tutor 
 to, xi. 
 
 Flames and Discoveries, 282. 
 
 Flap against the Maggot of Heresie, xlii. 
 
 Flecknoe, xxi. 
 
 Fletcher, 34, 64, 66, 74, 76, 79, 83, 
 84, 85, 86, 94, 98, 101. 
 
 Florence, 215. 
 
 Flying Post, xxxii. 
 
 Ford, Paul Leicester, xlix ; his mono- 
 graph on sayings of Poor Richard, 
 xlvii. 
 
 Four Sons of Ay man, 22. 
 
 Fox, George, xxvi, 140. 
 
 Fox, Johnson's, 80, 119. 
 
 Fracastorius, 17. 
 
 France, Francis I. of, 17. 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, viii, xlvii, xlviii, 
 xlix, 321-330; his works, xlvii, 
 xlviii, xlix ; his Almanack, xlvii, 
 xlviii. 
 
 Fraunce, Abraham, 1 6. 
 
 Frederigo, xlii. 
 
 Freind, Dr., xxxii, xxxv. 
 
 Friendly Debates, 276. 
 
 Frog Fight, Johnson's, 1 8. 
 
 Fulvia, 19, 70. 
 
 Furies, 17. 
 
 GADBURY, Robin, 170, 198. 
 
 Gager, Dr., 15. 
 
 Galen, 21. 
 
 Gallian of France, 22. 
 
 Gargantua, 22. 
 
 Garth, xxxiv. 
 
 Gascoigne, Geo., xii, 15, 16. 
 
 Gaveston, 13. 
 
 Gay, John, viii, xxx, xxxii, xxxiii, xlvi, 
 
 201-210 ; his publications, xxxiv, 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 Genesis, Book of, 272, 279, 281, 282. 
 Gentlemen of Verona, ix. 
 
 George I. , vii. 
 
 Georgic, Addison's, 212, 231. 
 
 Germanicus, 17. 
 
 Geta, 60. 
 
 Getae, 19. 
 
 Gibbon, the, University of, xxii. 
 
 Gireleon, 22. 
 
 Glendower, 160. 
 
 Gloucester, Sir W. Morton, Recorder 
 
 of, 146. 
 
 GOD, 1-4, 19, 63, 267, 268. 
 Godbid, W., 241. 
 Godolphin, Lord, 215. 
 Golchis, Peter, 20. 
 Golding, 1 8. 
 Googe, Barnabe, 18. 
 Gospel of St. John, Panapolyta's, 1 8. 
 Gosson, Stephen, 16. 
 Governour, Elyot's, ix. 
 Gower, 10. 
 Grafton, Duke of, xi. 
 
 publisher, ix. 
 
 Grammar, Lilly's, 262. 
 
 Grand Seignor, xli. 
 
 Gratian, 13. 
 
 Gray, xxiv. 
 
 Great Favourite of the Duke of Lerma, 
 
 109, 115. 
 
 Greece, 10, 15, 20, 21. 
 Greene, Robert, xiii, xiv, xvi, 14, 15, 
 
 19- 
 
 Greenwich, 44. 
 Gregory, Saint, 240. 
 Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt 
 
 of Clergy, Eachard's, viii, xli, 241- 
 
 312. 
 
 Growler, The, xxxiv. 
 Guardian, The, viii, xxxviii, 216, 318. 
 Gulston, Wm., bishop. 
 
 Nathaniel, D.D., 211. 
 
 Guy of Warwick, 22. 
 Gymnosophists, 21. 
 
 HADDON, Walter, u. 
 
 Hales, 85. 
 
 Halifax, Earl of, xxxv, 210, 214, 233. 
 
 Hall, Joseph, xvi, 16, 22. 
 
 Hal ley, Captain, 177. 
 
 Hammond, 312. 
 
 Hannibal, 26. 
 
 Harding, II. 
 
 Harington, xii, 18. 
 
 Harrison, Wm., prottgt of Swift, 
 
 xxxiv, 208. 
 Hart, 76, 1 10.
 
 INDEX 
 
 337 
 
 Harvey, Gabriel, 16, 19. 
 
 Hathway, 16. 
 
 Hebe, 162. 
 
 Hector, 19, 65. 
 
 Hedges, Sir Charles, 215. 
 
 Heliodorus, 12. 
 
 Henley, Anthony, xxxiv, 208 ; assists 
 
 the Medley, xxxiii ; his description 
 
 of Swift, xxxix. 
 Henry IV., 14. 
 Henry v., his rhymed plays revived by 
 
 Orrery, xviii. 
 
 Henry vin., 239, 252, 291, 309. 
 Herbert, xli. 
 Hercules, 3, 14, 58. 
 Hercules OEtaeus, 32. 
 Hermippus, 19. 
 Hero, 162. 
 
 Hero and Leander, 14. 
 Herodian, 69. 
 Herodotus, 6. 
 
 Herringman, xviii, xx, 30, 37, 109. 
 Hertford, 143. 
 Hesiod, II, 18. 
 Hewson, real name of John Partridge, 
 
 xxviii. 
 
 Heywood, Thos., 15, 16. 
 Hicks, D., 318. 
 Hieragonisticon, or CoraKs Doom, 
 
 Eachard's, xlii, xliii. 
 Hieronimo, 20. 
 Hiliard, 20. 
 
 Hill, Aaron, friend of Gay, xxxi. 
 Hippocrates, 21. 
 Hipponax Ephesius, 16. 
 History, Macaulay's, xliii, xliv. 
 History of Calestina, 22. 
 
 of Mustard, Tolambu's, xlii. 
 
 of Thomas Ellwood, xxiv. 
 
 Hobbes, xxi. 
 
 Homer, xxiii, 10, II, 12, 13, 15, 18, 41, 
 
 87, 125, 237, 248, 249. 
 Honour of Chivalry, 22. 
 Honourable Life and Death of Worthy 
 
 Sir Francis Drake, 1 8. 
 Honterus, Joannes, 13. 
 Hooker, xiii, 312. 
 Hopkins, 102. 
 Horace, xxvii, II, 14, 15, 16, 32, 49, 
 
 5i. 54, 55, 57, 59, 62, 65, 66, 73, 
 
 91, 93, 116, 119, 125, 128. 
 Hosea, 278. 
 House of Commons, Howard accused 
 
 of absurdity in the, xx. 
 Howard, Henry, n, 16. 
 
 Howard, Sir Robert, vii, xvi, xvii, xviii, 
 xix, xx, 30-36, 44, 97, 109-114, 116, 
 121 ; introduced as Crites in Essay of 
 Dramatic Poesy, xix ; accused by 
 Dryden of an absurdity in House of 
 Commons, xx ; a useful friend to 
 Dryden, xviii. 
 
 .Lady Elizabeth, Dryden marries, 
 
 xviii. 
 Thomas, Earl of Berkshire, xviii. 
 
 Hudibras, xxvii, xlii. 
 
 Hunger Hill, Ellwood dies at, xxvii. 
 
 Huon of Bordeaux, 22. 
 
 Hyppolitus, 32. 
 
 Idyllia, 12. 
 
 Iliad, Homer's, 249. 
 
 Illustrissimo Bickerstaffio Astrologico 
 
 Instauratori, 195. 
 Image and Certain Satires, Pygmalion's, 
 
 16. 
 Indian Emperor, xix, 102, 115. 
 
 Queen, Dryden's, xvii, xviii, xix, 
 
 102. 
 
 Institutes of Oratory, Wilson's, x. 
 Inventory of the Play House, 228. 
 Ireland, Addison, Chief Secretary of, 
 
 xxxvi. 
 Ironside, Nestor [i.e. Richard Steele], 
 
 318-319. 
 Isaac, 285. 
 Isaiah, 282, 286. 
 Isle of Dogs, Nash's, 19. 
 Isocrates, 21. 
 
 JACOB, 272, 281, 282. 
 James I., His Ane Short Treatise, xii. 
 ii., 239 ; Partridge and the 
 
 government of, xxviii. 
 
 Jenkyns, Sir Liolin, 242. 
 
 Jepthse, 17. 
 
 Jewin Street, Milton living at, xxiv. 
 
 Job, The Book, 290. 
 
 Jodelle, 19. 
 
 John, Saint, 276, 282, 284, 286. 
 
 Johnson, Edward, 21. 
 
 Johnston, 15, 18, 200. 
 
 Jonah, Book of, 275. 
 
 Jonson, Benjamin, xxvii, 15, 18, 31, 33, 
 36, 53, 55, 58, 66, 70, 73, 76, 77, 81, 
 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 94, 97, 101, 104, 
 108, 125, 128, 131, 132, 133, 162. 
 
 Jofeph, 281. 
 
 Journal, Fox's, 140 ; Ellwood, editor 
 of, xxxi.
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Journal to Stella, Swift's, xxxiv. 
 
 Judges, The Book of, 286. 
 
 Julius Caesar, 94, 106, 121. 
 
 Jupiter, 62. 
 
 Justin, 66. 
 
 Juvenal, xxvii, 1 6, 19, 55, 64. 
 
 KEBLE, The University of, xxiL 
 
 Kendal, 1 6. 
 
 King, John, 72. 
 
 Archbishop, Swift's commission 
 
 from, xxvii. 
 
 and no King, 74. 
 
 Dr., xxxii. 
 
 - Dr. William, Gay and the plight 
 
 of, xxxi ; his parodies, xxxL 
 King's College, Cambridge, viii. 
 Kings, Book of, 272. 
 Kirleus, Mrs., a London quack, 178. 
 Kirton, Holland, birthplace of Francis 
 
 Meres, xv. 
 Kyd, Thomas, xiii, 14, 15. 
 
 La Gloria de PCavallo, 8. 
 Laberius, 94. 
 Lafoole, 92. 
 Laius, 58. 
 
 L' Allegro, xxii. 159. 
 Lambarn, Sarah, 146. 
 Lancaster, Dr., 211. 
 Langland, William, 10, 16. 
 Languet, 6. 
 
 Laracor, Swift, vicar of, xxvii. 
 Leah, 279. 
 Leander, 162. 
 Lecky, xliv. 
 Leg, Dr., 15. 
 Leibnitz, Monsieur, 195. 
 Leicester, Robert Sidney, Earl of, xi, 
 8 ; Sir Philip Sidney's Letter to, 
 
 5-9- 
 
 Leland, 11. 
 Lepanto, 17. 
 Lerma, Duke of [The Great Favourite], 
 
 Howard's Preface to, 109. 
 Lesbius, 21. 
 
 VEstat Notcveau de la France, zl. 
 L'Estrange, Sir Roger, xxxii. 
 Letter from Italy, Addison's, 214. 
 to his Brother Robert, Sidney's, 
 
 vii, 5-9. 
 to a Young Clergyman, Swift's, 
 
 xliii, xlvi. 
 
 to Crassus, xxxiii, 204. 
 
 Lewis xiv., 175. 
 
 Lichfield, Lancelot Addison, Dean of, 
 211. 
 
 Licinius Imbrex, 15. 
 
 Life and Times, Wood's, xlii. 
 
 of foseph Addison, Tickell's, 21 1- 
 
 220. 
 
 of Copleston, xxii. 
 
 of Virgil, Congreve's. 
 
 Lightfoot, Dr., xli. 
 
 Lillie, Charles, xxxiv, 209. 
 
 Lilly, John, 15, 142, 251, 262. 
 
 Ling, Nicholas, xiii. 
 
 Linus, 10, 19, 21. 
 
 Lisideiui, 43, 44, 47, 65, 66, 68, 75, 
 .76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 93, 108. 
 
 Livia, 70. 
 
 Livius Andronicus, 10. 
 
 Livy, 7. 
 
 Llandaff, Copleston, Bishop of, xxi, 
 xxii. 
 
 Locke, John, 215. 
 
 Lockey, 20. 
 
 Lodge, T., xvi, 15, 16. 
 
 London, 37, 1 37, 141, 143, 148, 184, 200. 
 
 Long Acre, name Bickerstaff on a sign- 
 board in, xxviii. 
 
 Louis xiv., 26, 307. 
 
 Love's Labour Lost, 14. 
 Labour won, xvi. 
 
 Lucan, 12, 15, 123. 
 
 Lucanus, n. 
 
 Lucian, xxvii, 183, 263. 
 
 Lucilius, 65. 
 
 Lucrece, 13. 
 
 Lucretius, n. 
 
 Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff, xxx, 
 
 229, 230. 
 Lucullus, 16. 
 Luke, St., 280, 284. 
 Lycophron, 19, 50. 
 Lycosthenes, 260, 270. 
 Lydgate, IO. 
 Lyly, xiii, xiv. 
 Lyne, 20. 
 Lysippus, 20. 
 
 MACAULAY, viii, xxxix, xliii, xlvi, 90. 
 Macaulay's Characters of Clergy, by 
 
 Babington, xliv. 
 Machiavelli, 22. 
 Macrobius, 54, 94. 
 Maecenas, xiv, 16, 17. 
 Magi, 21. 
 
 Magliabecchi, Signior, 10$. 
 Magnetic Lady, 73.
 
 INDEX 
 
 339 
 
 Maid, The, 209. 
 
 Maid's Tragedy, So. 
 
 Maiden Knight, 22. 
 
 Mainwaring, Arthur, conducted the 
 
 Medley, xxxiii. 
 Mandringo, xlii. 
 Mant's Poems, xxii. 
 Mantua, Duke of, 176. 
 Mantuan, 16, 18. 
 Mantuanus, 1 1 . 
 Marcus, 20. 
 Annius Lucanus, 15. 
 
 Atilius, 13, 15. 
 Mark, St., 286. 
 Markham, Gervase, 18. 
 Marlborough, Duke of, 215. 
 Marli, 175. 
 Marlow, Christopher, xiii, xvi, 12, 14, 
 
 IS, 19- 
 
 Marston, John, xvi, 16, 22. 
 
 Martial, 1 6, 54, 46. 
 
 Master of St. Catherine's Hospital, 
 Thomas Wilson, ix. 
 
 Matilda, 13. 
 
 Matthew, St., 270, 273, 278, 280, 281, 
 283, 284, 285. 
 
 Marvell, xlii. 
 
 Maxims, Penn's, xlix. 
 
 Maynwaring, 205. 
 
 Medea, 15, 32, 58, 61, 63. 
 
 Medley, The, xxxiii, 205. 
 
 Melanctkon, 6, 17. 
 
 Melanthus, 16. 
 
 Melchisedec, xxxiv. 
 
 Melibcms, 16, 208. 
 
 Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin, xlviii. 
 
 Menander, 15, 18, 54. 
 
 Merchant of Venice, 14. 
 
 Mercury, 21, 66. 
 
 Meres [or Meers], Francis, vii, xii, xiii, 
 xv, 270 ; his list of Shakespeare's 
 plays, xv ; Sketch of English Litera- 
 ture, etc., 10-22. 
 
 Merlinus Liberates, Partridge's, xxviii. 
 
 Redivivus, 199. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, 84. 
 
 Mervin, 22. 
 
 Metamorphosis, Ovid's, 18. 
 
 Methuen, Sir Paul, 194. 
 
 Midsummer Nighfs Dream, 14. 
 
 Milithus, 13. 
 
 Milston, 211. 
 
 Milton, John, vii, xxiii, xxiv, xxv, 159- 
 166, 217 ; Dryden's request to, xxvi ; 
 Ellwood's relations with, 135-148. 
 
 Mirror for Magistrates i 15. 
 
 - for Knighthood, 22. 
 Miscellanies, Addison's, 213. 
 
 - Pope's and Swift's, xxiii. 
 Miseries of the Domestic Chaplain, 
 
 3I3. 
 
 Mock Astrologer, Dryden's, xxviL 
 Moliere, 76, 92. 
 Montagu, Charles, 210. 
 Montagues, the, 67. 
 Monthly Amusements, Ozell's, xxxii, 
 
 204. 
 
 Moore, Sir Thomas, 16. 
 Moorfields, 183. 
 Morley, 21. 
 
 Morose (in Silent Woman), 88, 89, 90. 
 Morphew, John, 167. 
 Mortlake, Partridge's tomb at, xxx. 
 Moses, 277, 278. 
 Mud, Thomas, 21. 
 Munday, Anthony, 16. 
 Munster, Lord, President of, xviii. 
 Muretus, 17. 
 Musa Anglicance, 212. 
 Musasus, 10, 14. 
 Muscovey, 194. 
 Musical instruments, 228. 
 Mustapha, 102. 
 Mustapha, Orrery's, xviii. 
 Mymnerus Colophonius, 16. 
 Myrrha, stories of, 64. 
 
 15. 
 
 Naseby, 269. 
 Nash, Thomas, 1 5, 19; his imprison- 
 
 ment, xvi. 
 
 Nativity of Lewis XIV., xxviii. 
 Neander, 43, 66, 75, 85, 92, 93, 97, 
 
 100, 108. 
 
 Nevell, Master, 9. 
 New Comedy of the Greeks, xxvii. 
 
 Jordan, Ellwood buried at, xxvii. 
 
 Newbery, 165. 
 
 Newman, Cardinal, xxii ; the university 
 
 of, xxii. 
 
 Newton, Thomas, II. 
 Nicaeus, 12. 
 Nicearchus, 20. 
 Nicomachus Phrygius, 1$. 
 Nicophanes, 20. 
 Nicostratus, 15. 
 Night Cap, 209. 
 Noah, Warner's history from, to his 
 
 own time, 13. 
 Noailles, Duke of, xxix.
 
 340 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Noailles, de, Cardinal, 173,180,1 86, 1 95. 
 Normandy, Robert of, 13. 
 Norwich, Bishop of, 1 6, 22. 
 Noue, Lord de la, 22. 
 Numps, 92. 
 
 Observator, xliv, 202 ; set up by John 
 
 Tutchin, xxxii. 
 Oakland, Christopher, II. 
 Octavia, sister of Emperor Augustus, 
 
 xiv, 17. 
 Odyssey, 249. 
 (Edipus, 58. 
 Offices, Tully's, 250. 
 OflfweU, Edward Copleston born there, 
 
 xxi. 
 
 Oldham, xliii, xlvii, 216. 
 Oldmixon, 205 ; assists the Medley, 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 Oley, Barnabus, xli. 
 Oliver, Isaac, 20. 
 Oliver of Castile, 22. 
 Olympius Mysius, 16. 
 Olynthiacs, Wilson, translation of, ix. 
 Oriel College, xxii ; Copleston Fellow 
 
 of, xxi. 
 
 Orlando Furioso, xiii, 18. 
 Ornatus and Artesia, 22. 
 Orpheus, to, 12, 21, 166. 
 Orrery, Earl of, xix, 23, 35 ; Rival 
 
 Ladies dedicated to, xvii. 
 Otter, 92. 
 Ovid, 11, 12, 13, 16, 18, 19, 62,63, 
 
 96, 97, 125. 
 Owlglass, 22. 
 Oxford, xv, xxxi, 148 ; study of Cicero- 
 
 nianism, the abuse of, xii. 
 Oxford, Earl of, 15. 
 Ozell, John, xxxii. 
 
 PACK, Samuel, 16. 
 
 Paget, Dr., 135, 136, 137. 
 
 Falermin de Oliva, 22. 
 
 Palingenius, II, 18. 
 
 'Pall Mall Gazette,' a chapter of 
 Pendennis, xxiii. 
 
 Palladis Tamia, vii, xiii, xv. 
 
 Panapolyta, Nonnus, 18. 
 
 Paneus, 20. 
 
 Paradise Lost, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, 148. 
 
 Regained, xxv, xxvi, 148. 
 
 of Dainty Devices, Meres, con- 
 tributor to, xv. 
 
 Parker, Samuel, 242. 
 
 and Cooke, 149. 
 
 Parmeno, 59, 61. 
 
 Parret, Edward, 143. 
 
 Parrhasius, 20. 
 
 Parthenius, 12, 16. 
 
 Partridge, John, viii, xxviii, 170, 171, 
 172, 173, 178, 180, 185, 187, 188, 
 190-199; his Almanack, xxviii, xxix, 
 xxx ; Swift's Verses on Death of, 
 xxix; Swift's Hoax against, xxviii, 
 xxix, xxx ; his Tracts, xxvii. 
 
 widow, 190. 
 
 Pastorals, 231. 
 
 Paterculus, 50. 
 
 Pattrick, Simon, 276. 
 
 Paul, St., 265, 277. 
 
 Peake, 20. 
 
 Peele, George, xiii, xvi, 14, 15, 19. 
 
 Pembroke College, 21 ; Meres gradu- 
 ates at, xv. 
 
 Countess of, 17. 
 
 Pendennis, xxiii. 
 
 Penington, Isaac, 135, 136, 137, 141, 
 143, 146, 147, 148. 
 
 Penn, William, xxvii, xlix. 
 
 Pennington, John, 141. 
 
 Pennington, William, 141. 
 
 Pennsylvania, Franklin's Almanack in, 
 xlviii. 
 
 Pennsylvania Gazette, xlix. 
 
 Pepys, xliv. 
 
 Perez, Consalvo, 1 1. 
 
 Perot, Edward, 143. 
 
 Perrault, 212. 
 
 Perseus, 20, 81. 
 
 Persius, 16. 
 
 Petrarch, 10, 14. 
 
 Petreius, 81. 
 
 Petronius, 47, 55. 
 
 Phsedria, 53, 60, 6l. 
 
 Phaer, 18. 
 
 Phaeton, 247. 
 
 Phidias, 20. 
 
 Philadelphia, 321. 
 
 Philamon, 21. 
 
 Philaster, 86. 
 
 Philelphus, n. 
 
 Philetas Cous, 16. 
 
 Philip, King of Greece, 183. 
 
 n. of Spain, n. 
 III., lio, 132. 
 
 Philipin, 83. 
 
 Philippics, Wilson's translation of, ix. 
 
 Philips, 21. 
 
 Philom, 321. 
 
 Philosophical Transactions, xxxi.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Phocylides, II. 
 
 Phoebus, 183. 
 
 Pickwick, xxx. 
 
 Piers Plowman, 10, 16. 
 
 Pigres Halicarnassceus, 16. 
 
 Pindarus, II, 15. 
 
 Pineda, John, 290. 
 
 Pismires rebuffeted, Mandringo's, xlii. 
 
 Plague, The, Milton returned to Lon- 
 don after, xxv. 
 
 Plato* 21, 127. 
 
 Platonic Dialogues, xxi. 
 
 Plautus, 10, 13, 14, 15, 31, 51, 54, 61, 
 62, 64. 
 
 Plutarch, xii, xiv, 7. 
 
 Pluto, 1 66. 
 
 Poems, Orrery's, 24. 
 
 Polieucte, 79. 
 
 Polignotus, 20. 
 
 Politeuphuia, xiii. 
 
 Politic and Military Discourses, 22. 
 
 Politics, Case's, 1 8. 
 
 Pollio, 62. 
 
 Pollux, 199. 
 
 Polyanthaa, 290. 
 
 Pompey, 12, 39, 79. 
 
 Pomponius Secundus, 15, 1 8. 
 
 Pontanus, Jovianus, II, 17. 
 
 Poor Richard Improved, Franklin's, 
 xlviii, 321-330. 
 
 Richard's Almanack, viii, xlvii. 
 
 Pope, xxxii, 137. 
 
 Porcius Licinius, 1 6. 
 
 Portocarrero, Cardinal, 175. 
 
 Potter, 1 6. 
 
 Prcelectiones Academica, xxi. 
 
 Praxiteles, 20. 
 
 Pre-Elizabethan literary criticism, vii. 
 
 Predictions, BickerstafPs, 200. 
 
 Swift's, 194, 195, 198. 
 
 for the Year 1708, 167. 
 
 Preface to Four New Plays, Howard's, 
 vii, xvii. 
 
 Preface to the Duke ofLerma, Howard's, 
 xvii. 
 
 Present State of England, Chamber- 
 layne's, xl. 
 
 Present State of Wit, Gay's, viii, xxx, 
 
 2OI-2IO. 
 
 Priam, 6l. 
 
 Primaleon of Greece, 22. 
 
 Prior, xxxii, 205. 
 
 Privy Councillor, Thomas Wilson, a, ix. 
 
 Prodromus, Partridge's, xxviii. 
 
 Progne, 32. 
 
 Project for the Advancement of Religion, 
 
 xliii, xlv. 
 Propertius, 16. 
 Provost of Oriel College, Copleston, 
 
 xxii. 
 
 Psalms, The, 281. 
 Ptolemy, 21. 
 
 Pusey, The University of, xxii. 
 Puttenham, George, xi, xii, xv. 
 Pygmalion, 16. 
 Pygmalion's Image and Certain Satires, 
 
 22. 
 
 Pyrgoteles, 20. 
 Pythagoras, 13. 
 Pythias, 60. 
 Pythus, 20. 
 
 QUARLES, Francis, 46. 
 Queen Gorboduc, 26. 
 Queen's College, 211. 
 Quinault, 76. 
 Quintilian, x. 
 
 RABELAIS, 249. 
 Rachael, 279. 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 16. 
 Ranee, John, 138. 
 Rankins, John, 22 
 
 Ray, xlviii. 
 
 Ridpath, George, editor of Flying 
 
 Post, xxxii. 
 
 Rehearsal Transposed, Marvell's, xlii. 
 Reminiscences of Bishop Copleston, 
 
 xxii. 
 Restoration, the, xxxix ; Chamberlayne 
 
 and, Dryden affected by, xvii ; 
 
 Howard at the, xviii ; terminates 
 
 Milton's work as a politician, xxiv. 
 Reusnerus, 18. 
 
 Revenue Officer, A, Swift's, 178-184. 
 Review, Defoe's, xliv. 
 Richard II., 14. 
 
 ///., 14, 15. 
 
 Sounders, an Almanack by Frank- 
 
 lin, xlvii. 
 Richelieu, Cardinal, 66, 76, 79. 
 Rival Ladies, xvii, xix, 134. 
 Rivington, F. C. and J. 
 Robert, King of Sicily, 17- 
 Rogers, 20. 
 Rollo, 69. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet ', 14. 
 Rosamond, 12, 215. 
 Roscius, 1 8. 
 Rosewell, Major, 139.
 
 342 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Rowe, Nicholas, xxix, 185 ; Squire 
 Bickerstaff Detected, written for 
 Partridge, 187-193. 
 
 Rowley, 15. 
 
 Roydon, Matthew, 14. 
 
 Ruffinus, 21. 
 
 Rule of Reason, Wilson's, ix. 
 
 Sad Shepherd, 84, 102. 
 
 Sagittarius, 183. 
 
 St. Catherine Hall, 242 ; Eachard, 
 
 Fellow of, xl. 
 St. John, Henry, xxxii. 
 St. Mary Hall, Dr. King, Principal of, 
 
 xxxi. 
 
 St. Paul's, Copleston, Dean of, xxi. 
 Salvini, 215, 218. 
 Sambucus, 18. 
 Samson, 286. 
 Sandys, 102. 
 Sannazaro, 1 6. 
 Sappho, 17. 
 Sarah, 285. 
 Satire, Oldham's, quoted by Steele, 
 
 xlii. 
 Saunders, John, xlix. 
 
 Richard, xlix, 321. 
 
 Savell, S, 6, 7. 8, 9- 
 
 Scaliger, 17, 29. 
 
 Scornful Lady, 74, 84. 
 
 Scotland, James, King of, 17. 
 
 Scott, xxix, xxx. 
 
 Secretary of State, Addison, xxxvi. 
 
 Wilson, ix. 
 
 Sedley, Sir Charles, 44. 
 Segar, Francis, 2O. 
 
 Win., 20. 
 
 Sejanus, 70, 74, 81, 84, 87, 119, 133. 
 Seneca, 13, 15, 18, 31, 32, 54, 55, 6l, 
 
 63, 64, 96, IO4, I O6, 112, 120, 121, 
 
 122, 267. 
 
 Sentences, Spencer's, 270. 
 Seven Champions of Christendom, 22. 
 Sextus Propertius, 18. 
 
 Turpilius, 15. 
 
 Shakespeare, xiii, xv, xvi, xx, xxiii, 12, 
 
 13, 14, 15, 16, 26, 27, 64, 68, 81, 
 
 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 94, 101. 
 Shallow, Justice, 160. 
 Sharp, Archbishop, his Life, xliv. 
 Shepherd's Calendar, Spenser's, xiii, 1 2. 
 Short, P., printer, xiii. 
 Short View of the Profaneness and 
 
 Immorality of the English Stage, xlv. 
 Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, 171. 
 
 Sicily, King of, 17. 
 
 Sidney, Sir Henry, xi. 
 
 Sidney, Mary, xi. 
 
 Sir Philip, vii, xi, xii, xiii, xiv, 
 
 xvi, 12, 14, 16, 17, 28; his Letter to 
 
 his Brother Robert, 5-9. 
 
 Robert, xi. 
 
 - ' Robin,' 5. 
 
 Stephen, 8. 
 
 Papers, by Collins, xi. 
 
 Sidrophel in Hudibras, xxvii. 
 Siege of Rhodes, 28, 100, 102. 
 Silent Woman, 77, 80, 85, 133; Ex- 
 
 amen of, 88. 
 Silius Italicus, II. 
 Simon Magnesius, 21. 
 Skelton, II. 
 Skialetheia, 16. 
 Slip-stocking, Parson, 274. 
 Smith, Sir Thomas, Thomas Wilson a 
 
 pupil of, ix. 
 Smyrna, 268. 
 Snow, Ralph, 242. 
 Soames, Sir John, his disgust of King's 
 
 parodies, xxxi. 
 
 Social Position of the English Estab- 
 lished Clergy in 1669, 239, 240. 
 Socrates, 89, 127, 169, 172, 218. 
 Solomon, 278. 
 
 Solomon's Canticles, Marlsham's, 1 8. 
 Somers, Lord, xxxv, 210, 213. 
 Sonnets, Shakespeare's, 13. 
 Sophocles, n, 12, 15, 17, 18, 50, 54, 61. 
 Sostrata, 60. 
 Sotades Afaronites, II. 
 Southey, The University of, xxii. 
 Spectacles, 209. 
 Spectator, xxxviii, 216, 217, 227, 228, 
 
 229, 232 ; praised by Gay, xxxv ; 
 
 Gay's reference to, xxxv. 
 Speculum Speculativium, 46. 
 Spencer, John, 270. 
 Spenser, xiii, xvi, 12, 14, 15, 16. 
 Splendid Shilling, Philip's, xxxi. 
 Sprat, xxi. 
 Spurina, 39. 
 Squirt Bickerstaff Detected, xxix, 18$. 
 
 1 86. 
 
 Stadwell, xx. 
 Stamp Tax extinguishes the Observator, 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 Stanislaus, 176. 
 Stanyhurst, Richard, 16. 
 State of Wit, xxxv. [vide, Present 
 
 Slate of Wit\
 
 INDEX 
 
 343 
 
 Stationers' Hall, Partridge struck off 
 the rolls of, xxix. 
 
 Steele, Sir Richard, viii, xxx, xxxv, 
 xxxvii, xxxviii, xxxix, xliv, xlvii, 
 199. 205, 207-210, 216, 217, 318, 
 320 ; assists the Medley, xxxiii ; his 
 Dedicatory Epistle to Addison's 
 Drummer, xxxvi ; his Dedicatory 
 Epistle to Wm. Congreve, 225-238 ; 
 his Miseries of the Domestic Chap- 
 lain, 313-320. 
 
 Stepney, 215. 
 
 Sternhold, 102, 166. 
 
 Stoa, Quintianus, n. 
 
 Stolo, Epius, 14. 
 
 Storehouse of Similies, 270. 
 
 Stories of Palladin and Palmendos, 
 22. 
 
 Stratonicus, 21. 
 
 Strozse, the father and son, n. 
 
 Stuart Tracts, xxxii. 
 
 Suckling, Sir John, 48, 86. 
 
 Suffolk, Duke of, pupil of Thomas 
 Wilson, ix. 
 
 Sunderland, Earl of, 215, 219. 
 
 Surprisal, Howard's, xviii. 
 
 Surrey, Earl of, II, 16, 27. 
 
 Swan, Wilson's, 19. 
 
 Swift, viii, xxiii, xxix, xxx, xxxi, xxiii, 
 xxxix, xliii, xlv, 173, 177, 200, 205, 
 207 ; his attention to Partridge, 
 xxviii ; described by Henley, xxxiv ; 
 his observations of Eachard, xli ; 
 reference to Gay in his Journal to 
 Stella, xxxv ; his Revenue Officer, a 
 letter to a Lord, 178-184; his Vin- 
 dication of Isaac Bickerstaff, 193- 
 199 ; his visit to England, November 
 1707, xxxii. 
 
 Switser, Christopher, 20. 
 
 Sylla, 45. 
 
 Syrus, 60. 
 
 TACITUS, 7, 8, 41. 
 
 Tale of a Tub, Swift's, xxiii, xxvii, xli, 
 xlv. 
 
 Tallis, 21. 
 
 Tarchagnora, 6. 
 
 Tarchaniota, Marullus, II. 
 
 Tarleton, 18. 
 
 Tasso, 14. 
 
 Tatler, The, viii, xxxiii, xxxiv, xxxvii, 
 xxxviii, xlvi, 205, 208, 209, 216, 227, 
 228, 231, 313; discontinuance of, 
 xxxv ; the New, xxxiv ; opposed by 
 
 the Examiner, xxxii ; praised by 
 
 Gay, xxxv ; started by Steel, xxx. 
 Taurus, 15. 
 Taverner, 21. 
 Taylor, John, 106. 
 Tell Tale, Gay's, xxxv. 
 Tender Husband, The, 216, 227, 229. 
 Terence, 15, 18, 31, 53, 54, 59, 60, 61, 
 
 62, 73. 235. 
 Terpander, 21. 
 Teucer, 125. 
 Thackeray and Copleston's remarks, 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 Thais, 53. 
 Thamyras, 14. 
 Theagines, 12. 
 Theamedes, 20. 
 
 Theatre of God's Judgments, 19. 
 Thebes, 58. 
 Themistocles, 21. 
 Theocritus, 12, 16. 
 Theodoretus, 18. 
 Theogenes Megarensis, 16. 
 'Theologus et Poeta,' Fitz-Geoffrey 
 
 refers to Meres as, xv. 
 Thespis, 15, 50. 
 Thomkins, 242. 
 Thucydides, 6. 
 Tibullus, 16. 
 Tickell, viii, xxxv, xxxvi-xxxix, 225, 
 
 276; his edition of Add ison's Works, 
 
 viii; Life of Joseph Addison, 21 1- 
 
 220; Undersecretary of State, xxxvi. 
 Timantes, 20. 
 Timon Appolloniates, 15. 
 Timotheus Milesius, 21. 
 Tit for Tat, Addison answered weekly 
 
 by, xxxiv. 
 
 Titus Andronicus, 14. 
 Tityrus, 247. 
 To Mr. Dry den, verses by Addison, 
 
 212. 
 
 Tolambu, his History of Mustard, xlii. 
 Tonson, xxxviii, 225, 226. 
 Tower, the, ix. 
 Town Shower, 208. 
 Tragaediographus, 13. 
 Tragedies, Seneca's, 18. 
 Treasurie of Divine, Moral, and Phylo- 
 
 sophical Similes, xiv. 
 Treatise on the Bathos, xxiii. 
 Trimmer, 165. 
 Trivia, Gay's, xlvi. 
 Troades, Seneca's. 
 Troy, 58.
 
 344 
 
 CRITICAL ESSAYS 
 
 Tryphon, Orrery's, xviii. 
 
 Tully, 41, 45, 55, 127, 250, 267. 
 
 Turberville, 18. 
 
 Tusser, 18. 
 
 Tutchin, John, xxxii ; and the Observa- 
 
 tor, xxxii. 
 Tyburn, 192. 
 
 ULYSSKS, n, 164, 208. 
 
 Useful Transactions in Philosophy, 
 
 xxxi. 
 Utrecht, 195. 
 
 VALETTA, SIGNOR, 218. 
 
 Valgius, C, 16. 
 
 Varius, 54. 
 
 Velde, Peter van de, 20. 
 
 Velleius Paterculus, 54, 56. 
 
 Venus, 20, 183. 
 
 Venus and Adonis, 13. 
 
 Verona, Dante at the Court of, xxv. 
 
 Vestal Virgin, Howard's, xix. 
 
 Vindication of tht Clergy from the 
 
 Contempt, Eachard's, xlii. 
 
 Isaac Bicker staff, 193. 
 
 Virgil, xxi, II, 12, 15, 16, 17, 18, 54, 
 
 62, 65, 87, 125, 176, 208, 216, 231. 
 Volpone, 80. 
 Vulcan, 183. 
 
 WALLER, 28, 48. 
 Walsingham, 16. 
 Warner, xiii, xliv, 12, 13, 14. 
 
 15- 
 
 Warwick, Countess of, 220. 
 
 Earl of, viii, 221. 
 
 Watkins, Morgan, 143. 
 Watson, Bishop, 1 8. 
 Thomas, II, 14, 15, 16. 
 Way to Wealth, Franklin's, xlviii. 
 Webbe, Wm. , xii. 
 Weekly Review, started by Defoe, 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 Wells, Henry, 145. 
 Welsted, 238. 
 
 Westminster, 210. 
 Wharley, Daniel, 141. 
 
 Mary, 141. 
 
 Wharton, Marquis of, 216. 
 Whateley, Archbishop, xxii ; the Uni- 
 versity of. 
 Whetstone, 16. 
 
 Whig Examiner, the, xxxiii, 204, 205. 
 Whisperer, the, xxxiv, xxxv. 
 White, Henry, 9. 
 
 N., 5 . 
 
 Whitney, Geffrey, 1 8. 
 Wiccombe, 138. 
 Willett, Andrew, 1 8. 
 Willey, II. 
 
 William in., 170, 191, 213, 215. 
 Wilson, Thomas, vii, x, 16, 18 ; his 
 
 Eloquence first given by God, I -4 ; 
 
 art of rhetoric, viii ; designated Sir 
 
 Thomas Wilson, viii. 
 Wilton, Sidney stays there, xi. 
 Windsor Castle, Howard imprisoned 
 
 there, xviii. 
 
 Wine, parody by Gay, xxxi. 
 Wing, 198 ; Meres stays there, xv. 
 Wither, George, 45. 
 Withers, F., xliii, 46. 
 Wits Commonwealth, xiii, xix, 271 ; 
 
 second part of, xiii. 
 Wits Treasury, Meres, xiii, xiv. 
 Wollebius, 254. 
 Wood, Anthony, xlii, 242. 
 Works, Addison's, 213, 217. 
 
 Fletcher's, 84. 
 
 Terence's, 55. 
 
 Wyat, Sir Thomas, 16. 
 
 XENOPHON, 6, 12, 24. 
 
 YALDEN, DR., 185; Partridge appeals 
 
 to, xxix. 
 York, Duke of, 43. 
 
 ZEUXIS, 20. 
 Zodiac of Life, 1 8. 
 
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